HUCKLEBERRIES 

GATHERED FROM NEW ENGLAND 
HILLS 



BY 



ROSE TERRY COOKE 




BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
Cambridge 



Copyright, 1891, 
BY ROSE TERRY COOKE. 

All rights reserved 



The Kivertide Prett, Cambridge, Matt., U. 8. A. 
Electrotyped and Priiited by H. O. Houghtou & Co. 




I OFFEB THI8 SHEAF OF STORIES TO 

MY DEAREST FRIEND 
ANNIE TRUMBULL BLO8SON 

AS A SLIGHT EXPRESSION OF MY DEEP IA>V 
AND GRATITUDE 

There is a friend that iticketh dour than a brother " 



350432 



PREFACE. 



I HAVE called this latest collection of New Eng- 
and stories by the name of a wild berry that has 
ilways seemed to me typical of the New England 
jharacter. 

Hardy, sweet yet spicy, defying storms of heat or 
sold with calm persistence, clinging to a poor soil, 
barren pastures, gray and rocky hillsides, yet draw- 
ing fruitful issues from scanty sources, it is most 
fitly celebrated by our own great poet : 

" There 's a berry blue and gold, 
Autumn-ripe, its juices hold 
Sparta's stoutness, Bethlehem's heart, 
Asia's rancor, Athens' art, 
Slow-sure Britain's secular might 
And the German's inward sight." 
" What can the man say that cometh after the King ? " 

R. T. C. 



CONTENTS. 



PAOB 



GRIT . 35 

MART ANN'S Mnn> ....... 

. . oo 
LOVE ... ^ 

ODD Miss TODD ..... 

AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING .... 

HOPSON'S CHOICE ...... 

CLARY'S TRIAL ...... 

A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING ..... 

HOME AGAIN ...... 

How CELIA CHANGED HER MIND ..... 

A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE . . -316 



HUCKLEBERRIES. 



GRIT. 

"LOOK a-here, Phoebe, I won't hev no such 
goin's-on here. That f eUer 's got to make tracks. 
I don't want none o' Jake Potter's folks round, 'nd 
you may as well lay your account with it, 'nd fix 
accordin'." 

Phoebe Fyler set her teeth together, and looked 
her father iu the face with her steady gray eyes ; 
but she said nothing, and the old man scrambled 
up into his rickety wagon and drove off. 

" Fyler grit " was a proverb in Pasco, and old 
Reuben did credit to the family reputation. But 
his share of " grit " was not simply endurance, per 
severance, dogged persistence, and courage, but a 
most unlimited obstinacy and f ull faith in his own 
wisdom. Phoebe was his own child, and when 
things came to an open struggle between them, it 
was hard to tell which would conquer. 

There had been a long quarrel between the Fy- 

lers and Potters such a quarrel as can only be 

1 found in little country villages, where people are 

thrown so near together and have so little to divert 



2 GRIT. 

their minds that they become as belligerent as a 
company of passengers on a sailing vessel fire 
easily and smoulder long. But Phoebe Fyler was 
a remarkably pretty girl, with great, clear gray 
eyes, a cheek like the wild rose, abundance of soft 
brown hair, and a sweet firm mouth and square 
cleft chin that told their own story of Fyler blood ; 
and Tom Potter was a smart, energetic, fiery young 
fellow, ready to fight for his rights and then to 
shake hands with his enemy, whichever beat. 
There was no law to prevent his falling in love 
with Phoebe because their fathers had hated each 
other ; indeed, that was rather an inducement. 
His honest, generous heart looked on the family 
feud with pity and regret. He would like to can 
cel it, especially if marrying Phoebe would do it. 

And why should she hate him ? Her father wag 
an old tyrant in his family; and the feeble, pale 
mother, who had always trembled at his step since 
the girl could remember, had never taught her to 
love her father, because she did not love him herself. 
Obedience, indeed, was ground into Phoebe. It was 
obey or suffer in that family, and the rod hanging 
over the shelf was not in vain. But when she grew 
up, and left the childish instinct or habit behind 
her, and the Fyler grit developed, she had the 
sense to avoid an open conflict whenever she could, 
for her mother's sake. 

This, however, was a matter of no small impor 
tance to Phoebe. She had met Tom Potter time 
after time at sewing societies, sleigh rides, huckle- 



GRIT. 



3 



berryings, and other rustic amusements ; they sat 
together in the singers' seat, they went to rehearsal ; 
but Tom had never come home with her until 
lately, and then always parted at the doorsilL 
Now he had taken the decisive step ; he had 
come Sunday evening to call, and every Pasco girl 
knew what that meant. It was a declaration. 
But while Phoebe's heart beat at his clear whis 
tle outside, and stood still at his knock, she saw 
with dismay her father rise to open the door. 
"Good-evening, Mr. Fyler." 
" How de do ? how de do ? " was the sufficiently 
cordial reply ; for the old man was half blind, and 
by the flicker of his tallow candle could noway dis 
cern who his visitor might be. 

" I don't really make out who ye be," he went 
on, peering into the darkness. 

" My name 's Potter. Is Phrebe to home ? " 
"Jake Potter's son?" 
" Yes, I be. Is Phoebe to home ? " 
An ominous flash from Tom's black eyes accen 
tuated the question this time, but old Reuben was 
too blind to see it. He drew back the candle, and 
said, in a surly but decisive tone, 

" 'T ain't no matter to you ef she is or ef she 
ain't," and calmly shut the door in his face. 

For a moment Tom Potter was furious. De 
cency forbade that he should take the door off its 
rackety hinges, like Samson at the gates of Gaza, 
but he felt a strong impulse to do so, and then an 
equally strong one to laugh, for the affair had its 



4 GRIT. 

humorous side. The result was that neither humor 
nor anger prevailed ; but as he strode away, a fixed 
purpose to woo and marry Phoebe, "whether or 
no," took possession of him. 

" 1 '11 see ef Potter faculty can't match Fyler 
grit," he muttered to himself ; and not without 
reason, for the Potters had that trait which con 
quers the world far more surely and subtly than 
grit, " faculty," i. e., a clear head and a quick 
wit, and capacity of adaptation that wrests from 
circumstance its stringent sceptre, and is the 
talisman of what the world calls " luck." 

In the mean time Phoebe, by the kitchen fire, sat 
burning with rage. Her father came back chuck 
ling. 

" I 've sent that spark up chimney pretty ever- 
lastin' quick." 

Phoebe's red lips parted for a rude answer, but 
her mother signaled to her from beyond the fire 
place, and the sad pale face had its usual effect 
on her. She knew that sore heart would ache 
beyond any sleep if she and her father came to 
words ; so she took up her candle to go to bed, but 
she did not escape. 

" You Ve no need to be a-muggin' about that fel 
ler, Phoebe," cackled the old man after her. " He 
won't never darken my doors, nor your'n nuther ; 
so ye jest stop a-hankerin' arter him, right off slap. 
The idee ! a Potter a-comin' here arter you ! " 

Phoebe's eyes blazed. She stopped on the lower 
stair, and spoke sharply, 



GRIT. 



" Mebbe you '11 find there 's more things can go 
out o' the chimney than sparks," and then hurried 
up, banging the door behind her in very womanish 
fashion, and burst into tears as soon as she reached 
her room. 

It was Tuesday morning when old Fyler drove 
from his door, hurling the words at the beginning 
of our story at Phoebe, on the doorstep. 

He had found out that Tom Potter had gone to 
Hartford the day before for a week's stay, and 
took the chance to drive sixteen miles down the 
river on some business, sure that in his day's 
absence Tom could not get back to Pasco, and 
Phosbe would be safe. 

But man proposes in vain sometimes. Mr. Fy 
ler did his errand at Taunton, ate his dinner at 
the dirty little tavern, and set out for home. As 
he was jogging quietly along, laying plans for the 
easy discomfiture of Tom and Phcebe, a loud roll of 
wheels roused him, a muffled roar like a heavy 
pulse beat, a shriek as of ten thousand hysterical 
females, and right in the face and eyes of old Jerry 
appeared a locomotive under full headway, com 
ing round a curve of the track, which the old man 
had either forgotten, or not known, ran beside 
the highway for nearly half a mile. Jerry was 
old and sober and steady, but what man even could 
bear the sudden and unforeseen charge of a rail 
way engine bearing down upon him face to face ? 
The horse started, reared, jumped aside, and took 
to his heels for dear life ; the wagon tilted up on a 



6 GEIT. 

convenient stone, and threw the driver violently 
out; but in all the shock and terror the "Fyler 
grit " never failed. With horny hands he grasped 
the reins so powerfully that the horse could drag 
him but a few steps before he was stopped by the 
weight on the bit, and then, as Reuben tried to 
gather himself out of the dust and consider the 
situation, he found that one leg hung helpless 
from the knee, his cheek and forehead were well 
grazed, and his teeth precious possession, over 
whose cost he had groaned and perspired as a ne 
cessary but dreadful expense had disappeared 
entirely. This was the worst blow. Half blind, 
with a terrified horse and a broken leg, totally 
alone and seventy-seven years old, who else would 
have stopped to consider their false teeth ? But he 
dragged himself over the ground, holding the reins 
with one hand, groping and fumbling in the dust, 
till fortunately the missing set was found, unin 
jured by wheel or stone, but considerably mixed 
up with kindred clay. 

" Whoa, I tell ye 1 whoa ! " shouted the old man 
to Jerry, who, with wild eyes and erect ears, stood 
quivering and eager to be off. 

" Darn ye, stan' still ! " and jerking the reins 
by way of comment, he crept and hitched himself 
toward the wagon. Jerry looked round, and 
seemed to understand the situation. He set down 
the pawing forefoot, lowered the pointed ears, and, 
though he trembled still, stood as a rock might, 
till, with pain and struggle, his master raised him- 



GEIT. 7 

self on one foot against the wheel, and, setting his 
lips tight, contrived to get into the wagon, and 
on to the seat. " Git up ! " he said, and Jerry 
started with a spring that brought a dark flush of 
pain to the old man's cheek. But he did not stop 
nor stay for pain. " Git up, I tell ye ! We 've 
got to git as fur as Baxter, anyhow. Go 'long, 
Jerry." And on he drove, though the broken leg, 
beginning to swell and press on the stiff boot-leg, 
gave him exquisite pain. But a mile or two passed 
before he met any one, for it was just noon, and 
all the countryfolk were at their dinner. At last 
a man appeared in the distance, and Reuben drew 
up by the roadside, and shouted to him to stop. 
It proved to be an Irishman, on his way to a farm 
just below. 

" Say, have ye got a jackknife ? " was Reuben's 
salutation. 

" Yis, surr, I have that ; and a fuss-rate knoife 
as iver ye see. What 's wantin' ? " 

"Will yer ole hoss stan' a spell? " 

" Sure he '11 stand till the day afther niver, av 
I'd let him. It's standin' he takes to far more 
than goin'." 

" Then you git out, will ye, 'nd fetch yer knife 
over here 'nd cut my boot-leg down." 

" What 'n the wurrld are ye afther havin' yer 
boot cut for ? " queried the Irishman, clambering 
down to the ground. 

" Well, I got spilt out a piece back. Hoss got 
skeert by one o' them pesky ingines, 'nd I expect 



8 GRIT. 

I broke my leg. It 's kinder useless, 'nd it 's kep' 
a-swellin' ever sence, so 's 't it hurts like blazes, I 
tell ye." 

" The divil an' all broke yer leg, man alive ? 
An' how did ye get back to the waggin ? " 

" Oh, I wriggled in somehow. Come, be quick ! 
I want to git to Baxter right off." 

" Why, is it mad ye are ? Turn about, man. 
There 's Kinney's farm just beyant a bit. Come in 
there. I '11 fetch the docthor for yez." 

" No, I won't stop. I must git to the tavern to 
Baxter fust ; then .1 '11 go home, if I can fix it." 
" The Lord help ye, thin, ye poor old crathur ! " 
"You help me fust, and don't jaw no more." 
And so snapped at, the astounded Irishman pro 
ceeded to cut the boot off a slow and painful 
process, but of some relief when over ; and Jerry 
soon heard the word of command to start forward. 
Three more hard uphill miles brought them to the 
tavern, just at the entrance of Baxter, and Jerry 
stopped at the backdoor. 

" Hullo ! " shouted the old man ; and the man 
who kept the house rose from his armchair with a 
yawn and sauntered leisurely to the piazza. But 
his steps quickened as soon as he found out what 
was the matter, and with neighborly aid Mr. Fyler 
was soon carried upstairs and laid on a bed, and 
the doctor sent for. " Say, don't ye give Jerry no 
oats, now I tell ye. I won't pay for 'em. He 's 
used to hay, 'nd he '11 get a mess o' meal to-night 
arter we get home." 



GRIT. 9 

" Why, you can't get home to-night ! " exclaimed 
the landlord. 

"Can't I? I will, anyhow, ye'd better believe. 
I 've got to be there whether or no. Where 's that 
darned doctor ? Brush the dirt off'n my coat, will 
ye? 'nd here, jest rence off them teeth," handing 
them out of his pocket. " I lost 'em out, 'nd lied 
to scrape round in the dirt quite a spell afore I 
found 'em." 

" Well, I swan to man ! " ejaculated the land 
lord. " Do you mean to say you hunted round 
after them 'ere things after you 'd got a broke 
leg?" 

"Sure's you live, sir. I hitched around just 
like a youngster a-learnin' to creep, 'nd drawed my 
leg along back side o' me ; I 'm kinder blind, ye 
see, or I should ha' found 'em quicker." 

" By George ! ef you hain't got the most grit ! " 
And the landlord went off to tell his tale in the 
office. 

" Take him up a drink o' rum, Joe," was the com 
ment of a hearer. " I know him, He polishes his 
nose four times a week, you bet ; rum 's kinder 
nateral to him. His dad kep' a corner grocery. 
A drink '11 do him good. I '11 stan' treat, fur he 's 
all-fired close. He 'd faint away afore he 'd buy a 
drink, fur he 'stills his own cider-brandy. But 
flesh an' blood can't allers go it on grit, ef 't is 
Fyler grit, 'nd he '11 feel considerable mean afore 
the doctor gets here. Fetch him up a good stiff 
sling, 'nd chalk it down to me." 



10 GRIT. 

A kindly and timely tonic the sling seemed to 
be, and the old fellow took it with great ease. 

" Taste kinder nateral? " inquired the interested 
landlord, with suspended spoon. 

" It 's reel refrashin',' ' was the long-delayed an 
swer, as the empty tumbler went back to join the 
unoccupied spoon. "Now fetch on yer doctor." 
And without a groan or a word the old man bore the 
examination, which revealed the fact that both bones 
of the leg were fractured ; or, as the landlord ex 
pressed it to a gaping and expectant crowd outside, 
"His leg's broke short off in two places." With 
out any more ado Reuben bore the setting and 
splinting of the crushed limb, and accepted meekly 
another dose of the " refrashin' " fluid from the 
bar-room. " Now, doctor, I want to be a-travelin' 
right off." 

"Traveling! where to?" demanded the doctor, 
glaring at him over his spectacles. 

" Where to I why, back to our folks's, to 
Pasco." 

" You travel to the land of Nod, man. Go to 
sleep ; you won't see Pasco to-day nor to-mor 
row." 

" I 'm a-goin', anyhow. I tell ye I 've got ter. 
Important bizness. I would n't be kep' here for a 
thousand dollars." 

The doctor saw a hot flush rise to his face, and 
an ominous glitter invade the dull eye. He knew 
his man, and he knew what determined opposition 
and helplessness might do for him. At seventy- 



GRIT. 11 

seven, a broken leg is no trifle ; but if fever sets 
in, matters become complicated. 

" Well," he said, by way of humoring the refrac 
tory patient, " if you 're bound to go, you must go 
to-night ; to-morrow '11 be harder for you to move." 
And with a friendly nod he left the room, and the 
landlord followed him. 

" Ye don't expect he 's a-goin' to go, do ye, 
doctor ? " 

" Lord, man ! he might as well stand on his 
head ! Still, you don't know old Reub Fyler, per 
haps. He 's as clear grit as a grindstone, and if 
he is bound to go, he '11 go ; heaven nor earth won't 
stop him, nor men neither." And the doctor 
stepped into his sulky and drove off. 

An hour afterward Reuben Fyler insisted on 
being sent home. A neighbor from Pasco, who 
had come down after grain with a long wagon, 
heard of the accident, and happened in. 

" I 'm bound to git home, John Barnes," said 
the old man. " I 've got ter ; I 've got bizness. 
Well, I might as well tell ye, that darned Potter 
feller 's a-snakin' 'nd a-sneakin' round arter Phoebe, 
'nd ef I 'm laid up here, he '11 be hangin' round 
there as sure as guns. Fust I know they '11 up 'nd 
git merried. I '11 see him hanged fust ! I 'm goin' 
hum to-night. I can keep her under my thumb ef 
I 'm there ; but ye know how 't is : when the cat 's 
away " 

" H'm ! " said John Barnes a man slow of 
speech, but perceptive. " Well, ef you 're bound 



12 GRIT. 

to go, you can have my waggin, 'nd I '11 drive 
your'n up.'* 

" But change hosses ; I can't drive no hoss but 
Jerry." 

" You drive ! " exclaimed John, in unfeigned 
astonishment. 

" My arms ain't broke, I tell ye, 'nd I ain't 
a-goin' to pay nobody for what I can do myself, 
you can jest swear to that." 

And John Barnes retreated to hold council with 
the bar-room loungers. But remonstrance was in 
vain. About five o'clock the long wagon was 
brought up, the seat shoved quite back to the end, 
and an extempore bed made of flour bags, hay, and 
old buffalo-robes on the floor of the rickety vehicle ; 
the old man was carried carefully down, packed 
in as well as the case allowed, his splinted and 
bandaged leg tied to the side to keep it steady, his 
head propped up with his overcoat rolled into a 
bundle, and an old carriage carpet thrown over 
him and tucked in. Then another " refrashin' " 
fluid was administered, and the reins being put 
into his hands, with a sharp chirrup to old Jerry, 
he started off at a quick trot, and before John 
Barnes could get into his wagon and follow, Fyler 
was round the corner, out of sight, speeded by the 
cheers and laughter of the spectators, and eulogized 
by the landlord, as he bit off the end of a fresh 
cigar, as " the darnedest piece of Fyler grit or any 
other grit I ever see ! " 

In the mean time Phoebe at home went about 



GRIT. 13 

her daily work in a kind of sullen peace : peaceful, 
because her father was out of the way for one day 
at least ; sullen, because she foresaw no end of trou 
ble coining to her, but never for one moment had 
an idea of giving up Tom Potter, or of any way to 
achieve her freedom except by enduring obstinacy. 
Many another girl, quick-witted or well read in 
novels, would have enjoyed the situation with a 
certain zest, and already invented plenty of strata 
gems ; but Phoebe had not been educated in mod 
ern style, and tact or cunning was not native to her ; 
she could endure or resist to the death, but she 
could not elude or beguile, and her father knew it. 
Her mother was helpless to aid her ; but, with the 
courage mothers have, she set herself out of the 
question, and having thought deeply all the morn 
ing, over the knitting-work, which was all she could 
do now, she surprised Phoebe in the midst of her 
potato-paring by suddenly saying : 

" Phoebe, I see what you 're a-thinkin' of, and I 
want to say my say now, afore anybody comes in. 
I 've heerd enough o' Tom Potter to know he 's a 
reel likely young feller ; he 's stiddy, 'nd he 's a 
professor besides, 'nd he 's got a good trade ; there 
ain't no reason on airth why you should n't keep 
company with him, ef you like him. It 's clear 
senseless to hev your life spoiled because your folks 
'nd his folks querreled, away back, about a water 
right." 

Phoebe dropped the potatoes, and gave her mo 
ther a speechless hug, that brought the tears into 
those pale blue eyes. 



14 GRIT. 

" Softly, dear ! I don't mean to set ye ag'inst 
your pa, noways ; but I don't think man nor woman 
hes a right to say their gal sha'n't marry a man 
that ain't bad nor shiftless, jest 'cause they don't 
fancy him ; 'nd I don't want to leave ye here when 
I go, to live my life over agin." 

" Oh, mother," exclaimed Phoebe, almost drop 
ping the pan again, " I think it would be awful 
mean of me to leave you here alone ! " 

"'T would n't be no worse, Phoebe. I should 
miss ye, no doubt on 't ; I should miss ye consider'- 
ble, but then I should n't worry over your hard 
times here as I do, some, all the time." 

Poor saint ! she fought her battle there by the 
fireside, and nobody saw it but the " cloud of wit 
nesses," who had hung over many a martyrdom 
before that was not illustrated by fire or sword. 

Phoebe choked a little, and her clear eyes sof 
tened ; she was only a girl, and she did not fully 
understand what her mother had suffered and re 
nounced for her, but she loved her with all her 
warm heart. 

"I can't help ye none, Phoebe," Mrs. Fyler 
went on, with a patient smile, " but I can comfort 
ye, mebbe, and, as fur as my consent goes, you hev 
it, ef you want to marry Tom ; but oh ! Phoebe, be 
sure, sure as death, you do want to : don't marry 
him to get away from home. I 'd ruther see ye 
drowned in Long Pond." 

Phoebe's cheek colored deeply and her bright 
eyes fell, for her mother's homely words were sol 
emn in their meaning and tone. 



GRIT. 15 

" I am sure, mother," she said softly, and went 
away to fetch more wood for the fire ; and neither 
of the women spoke again of the matter, but 
Phoebe's brow cleared of its trouble, and her 
mother lay back in her chair and prayed in her 
heart. Poor woman ! she had mighty need of 
such a refuge. 

So night came on, and after long delay they ate 
their supper, presuming that the head of the house 
was delayed by business, little thinking how he, 
strapped into eTohn Barnes's wagon, was pursuing 
his homeward road in the gathering darkness and 
solitude ; for though John caught up with him 
soon, after a mile or two some empty sacks fell 
out of the Barnes wagon, and no sooner did John 
miss them than he coolly turned back and left old 
Reuben to find his way alone. But the old man 
did not care ; he had courage for anything ; so he 
drove along as cheerily as ever, though his dim 
sight was darkened further by the darkening air, 
the overhanging trees, and the limit set to his 
vision by the horse's head, which from his position 
was all he could see before him. 

About nine o'clock a benighted traveler driving 
toward Baxter from Pasco way, with his wife, 
discerned dimly an approaching horse and wagon, 
apparently without a driver. He reined his own 
horse and covered buggy into the ditch, to give 
room, but the road was narrow, and the other 
horse kept in the middle. 

" Turn out ! turn out ! " shouted the anxious 



16 GRIT. 

man. "Are you asleep or drunk? Turn out, I 
tell you ! " 

But old Fyler heard the echo only of the strenu 
ous voice, and turned out the wrong way, setting 
his own wheels right into the wheels of the stran 
ger's buggy. 

"You drunken idiot ! back, back, I say ! you 've 
run right into me " not without objurgations 
of a slightly profane character to emphasize his 
remark. " Back, I say ! The devil ! can't you 
hear ? " 

By this time both horses were excited ; the 
horse in the ditch began to plunge, the other one 
to rear and back, till, what between the pull of his 
master on the reins and his own terror, Jerry 
backed his load down the steep bank at the road 
side, and but for a tree that caught the wheel, 
horse, driver, and wagon would have gone head 
long into a situation of fatal reverses, where even 
Fyler grit could not avail. 

" Murder ! " cried the old man. " I 've broke 
my leg, 'nd I 'm pitchin' over th' edge ! Lordy 
massy ! stop the cretur ! Who be ye ? Ketch his 
head, can't ye ? Thunderation ! I 'm a-tippin' ? 
sure 's ye live ! " 

" Let your horse alone, you old fool ! " shouted 
the exasperated traveler, who was trying vainly 
to tie his own to some saplings by the roadside, 
while his wife scrambled out as best she might 
over the floundering wheels. But by the time the 
man succeeded, Fyler's horse had been so demon- 



GRIT. 17 

strative that the wagon wheels were twisted and 
locked together, the wagon body tilted up to a dan 
gerous degree, and the old man rolled down to the 
other side and half out, where he hung helpless, 
tied by the knee, sick with the pain of his wrenched 
leg, and unable to stir ; but still he yelled for 
help. 

" Can you hold this plaguy horse's head, 
Anne ? " said the traveler. " I never can right 
the wheels while he plunges and rears like that." 

" I '11 try," was the quiet response ; and being 
a woman of courage and weight, she hung on to 
the bridle, though Jerry made frantic efforts to 
lift her off the ground and stand on his hind-legs, 
till the wagon was righted, the groaning old man 
replaced, his story told, and he ready once more 
to shake the reins, which still were grasped in his 
hard hands. 

" But you ain't going on alone in this dark ? " 
asked the astonished traveler. 

" Yes, I be, yes, I be sartain. I shall git on 
well enough ef I don't meet nobody, 'nd I guess I 
sha'n't." 

" But you met us." 

' Well, it 's a-growin' later 'nd later ; there 
won't be many folks out to-night ; they ginerly 
knows enough to stay to hum arter dark out our 
way." With which Parthian remark he chirruped 
to Jerry and trotted away, without a word of 
thanks or acknowledgment, aching and groaning, 
and muttering to himself, " Darned fool ! what 'd 



18 GRIT. 

he want to be a-kitin' round in a narrer road this 
time o' night ? Fixed me out, I guess ; but I '11 
get hum, anyhow. Git up, Jerry ! 

And Jerry got up to such a purpose that about 
twelve o'clock that night a loud shouting at the 
front door roused Phoebe and her mother, and they 
were forced to call in a couple of men from the 
next neighbor's, at least a quarter of a mile away, 
to get the old man into the house, undressed, and 
put to bed. 

As might have been expected, fever set in ; but 
he fought that with " Fyler grit." And though 
fever is a force of itself, there is a certain willful 
vitality and strength of will in some people that 
exert wonderful influence over physical maladies ; 
and after a few days of pain and discomfort and 
anger with himself and everybody else, the old 
man grew more comfortable, and proceeded to rule 
his family as usual. By dint of questioning the 
daily visitoi's who always flock about the victim of 
an accident in a country village, he had kept him 
self posted as to Tom Potter's absence ; but its 
limit was drawing to an end now, and he took 
alarm. He had not imagined that Tom might be 
as well informed on his part, and that more than 
one note had passed through the post-office al 
ready between the young couple. Nor did he 
know that the postmistress was a warm friend of 
Tom's ; for he had rescued her only child from the 
threatening horns of his father's Ayrshire bull, 
when little Fanny had ventured to cross the pas. 



GRIT. 19 

ture lot after strawberries, and her red shawl at 
tracted that ill-conditioned quadruped's notice and 
aroused his wrath. Tom's correspondence was 
safe and secret in passing through aunty Leland's 
hands. But as soon as Reuben Fyler ceased to 
need doses from the drug store and ice from the 
tavern, Phoebe was kept within range of his eye 
and ear. Still, she knew Tom was at home now, 
and evening after evening his cheery whistle 
passed through the window as he sauntered by, 
a signal to Phosbe to get outside if she could ; but 
she never could. 

However, " Potter faculty " was at work fot 
her. When the county paper was sent over from 
the post-office by a small boy, he had directions 
from aunty Leland to give it at once into Phoebe's 
hand, " and nobody else's." So he waited about 
till Phoebe opened the kitchen door to sweep out 
the dust, and gave it to her with a significant wink 
not that he knew what his wink signified at all, 
but, with the true gamin instinct, he gathered an 
idea from the widow Leland's special instructions 
that " somethin' wuz to pay," as he expressed it to 
himself. 

And Phoebe, as she hastened in from the door 
to carry the paper to her father's bedside, per 
ceived on the margin, in a well-known handwriting, 
these words, " Look out for lambs." As she hung 
up her broom, she tore off the inscription and 
tossed it into the fire ; and then, while she pa 
tiently went through the gossip, politics, religion, 



20 GRIT. 

and weekly story of the " Slabtown News," ex 
ercised herself mightily as to what that mystic 
sentence might mean ; but not till the soft and 
fragrant darkness of the June evening set in did 
she find a clew to the mystery. 

Old Fyler had a few pure-blood merino sheep 
on his farm that were the very apple of his eye. 
Not that he had ever bought such expensive com 
modities ; but a wealthy farmer in the next town 
owned a small flock some years before, which the 
New England nuisance of dogs at last succeeded in 
slaying or scattering. In some panic of the sort, 
one had escaped to the woods, and, after long 
straying, been found by Fyler, with a new-born 
pair of lambs beside her, in a wood on the limit of 
Pasco township, where he was cutting his winter 
supply. Of course this windfall was too valuable 
to be neglected. The hay brought for Jerry's din 
ner was made into a soft bed, and, with the help 
of an Irishman, who was chopping also, the sheep 
and her family lifted into the wagon and taken 
home. Pasco was not infested with dogs ; only 
two or three could be numbered in the village. 
And after the old sheep was wonted to her quar 
ters a little, fed by hand, cosseted, and made at 
home, she was turned into a lot with the cows. 
And woe betide any dog that intruded among the 
beautiful Ayrshires ! So the sheep increased year 
after year, carefully sheltered in cold weather, as 
became their high breeding, till now between 
thirty and forty ranged the sweet short pastures of 



GRIT. 21 

the Fyler farm, and their fleeces were the wonder 
and admiration of all the town. 

Late that night lace, I mean, for Pasco, for 
the old-fashioned nine-o'clock bell had but just 
rung, though Mrs. Fyler had gone to bed upstairs 
an hour ago, and Phoebe was just spreading an ex 
tempore bed on the lounge in the kitchen, to be 
where her father might call her in case of need 
a piteous bleat, unmistakably the bleat of a lamb 
in some kind of distress, was heard outside. The 
old man started up from his pillow. 

" What 'n thunder 's that, Phcebe ? " 

" Sounds some like a lamb." 

" Sounds like a lamb ! Anybody 'd think you 
was a durn fool. "Tis a lamb, I tell ye. One o' 
them leetle creturs hez strayed away out o' the 
paddock. I 'xpect boys hez ben in there a-foolin' 
round 'cause I 'm laid up abed. Lordy ! I wish to 
the land I could smash that 'ere ingine. Go 'long 
out, gal, 'nd see to 't. It '11 stray a mile mebbe 
ef ye don't. You 've got ter look out for lambs. 
They don't know nothin'." 

Phoebe started as her father repeated the very 
phrase penciled on the edge of the paper ; the 
lamb kept bleating, and the dimple in the girl's 
rosy cheek deepened while she found her bonnet, 
and, turning the key of the kitchen door, stepped 
out into the starlit night. That lamb was evi 
dently behind the woodshed, but so was somebody 
else ; for Phoebe had hardly discerned its curly 
back in the shadow before she was grasped in a 



22 GRIT. 

stringent embrace, and Tom Potter actually kissed 
her. 

" Go 'long ! " she whispered indignantly. But 
Tom did not seem to mind her, and probably she 
became resigned to the infliction, for at least ten 
minutes elapsed before that go-between of a lamb 
was restored to its anxious mother in the paddock, 
and full half the time was wasted in a whispered 
dialogue with punctuation marks. 

Very rosy indeed Miss Phoebe looked as she 
returned to the house. 

" Seems to me ye was everlastin' long 'bout 
ketchin' that lamb," growled old Reuben. 

" Well, I had to put it back, 'nd fix up the lit 
tle gate. One hinge was off on 't, 'nd 't was kinder 
canted round, so 's 't the lamb got out, 'nd was too 
simple to get back." 

Oh, Phoebe ! Well it was that no oath com 
pelled the speaking of the whole truth of who 
unhinged the gate, or who had the lamb safe by 
a long string, having previously captured it in the 
paddock for purposes of decoy, or how, indeed, a 
letter came to be in that calico pocket, making 
an alarming crackle whenever she moved, terri 
bly loud to her, but silent to the sleepy old man in 
his bed. 

Phoebe went about very thoughtful the next day. 
The letter contained an astounding proposition. 
It was an artful letter, too, for it began with a re 
cital of all the difficulties that made the way of 
true love proverbially rugged, and convinced her 



GEIT. 23 

of what she had unconsciously admitted before, 
that she could never marry her lover in the world 
with her father's consent and the pleasant obser 
vances of ordinary life. Then it went on to plead 
in tender and manly fashion the writer's own affec 
tion ; his ability to give her a pleasant and happy 
home, for he had just bought out the Pasco black 
smith shop, the owner thereof having moved to 
Hartford, where Tom had spent that week settling 
up the matter, and the smithy was a good busi 
ness, being the only one in a wide radius. And 
it wound up with a proposal that as soon as her 
father got so much better that her mother could 
care for him alone, Phoebe should slip out some 
fine night on to the roof, thence to the top of the 
henhouse, and so to the ground, and meet Tom 
and his sister, who would be with him, at Peter 
Green's wood, half a mile away, and just at the 
edge of the Fyler farm. Phoebe was to consider 
the matter fully, and talk it over with her mother, 
and when she made up her mind, to put a letter in 
the corner of the cow-shed, where she milked daily, 
under a stone, where she would also find an an 
swer, and probably other epistles thereafter. 

Phoebe was not a girl to take such a proposal 
lightly. She did, indeed, consider it long and in 
earnest. Day by day, as her father grew better, 
with a rapidity astonishing in so old a man, for 
Reuben Fyler's adventures are literally true, he 
became more and more ill-tempered and exasper 
ating. The pain of the knitting bones, the bed- 



24 GRIT. 

weariness, the constant fret over farm-work that 
was either neglected or hired out, worked on his 
naturally growling temper, and made life unpleas 
ant to all around him as well as himself. Phosbe's 
mind v/as made up more by her father than even 
her own affection for Tom, or her mother's gentle 
encouragement. The old man vented his temper 
on Phosbe in the matter of Tom Potter more and 
more frequently ; he reviled the Potter tribe, root 
and branch, in a radical and persistent way that 
would have done credit to an ancient Israelite 
cursing Canaan ; he even taunted Phrebe with fa 
voring such a chicken-hearted lover, scared with 
one slam of a door in his face ; and Phoebe's inher 
ited " grit " was taxed strongly to keep her tongue 
quiet lest she should betray her own secret ; yet 
angry as she was, there was a glint of fun under- 
lying her anger, to think how thoroughly Tom had 
countermined her father, which set the deep, lovely 
dimples in cheek and chin alight, and sparkled in 
each steady eye, almost belying the angry brow 
and set lips. 

So it came about that she yielded to the inner 
pressure and the outer persuasion. Her father 
was able now to get about a little on crutches, and 
sit at the window overlooking the cow-shed ; yet it 
was there, right under his suspicious eyes, that 
Phoebe took the time, while she was milking and 
her mother feeding a new-weaned calf, to unfold 
her plans. 

"Mother," she began, with eyes fixed on hei 



GRIT. 25 

pail, " I can't stand it any longer ; my mind 's 
made up. I 'm going to Torn, if you keep in the 
same mind you was." 

" Yes, dear ; I think it is the best for both of 
us. But don't tell me any more about it than you 
can help. Tell me what you want me to do for 
yon, but " 

" Yes, I know," answered Phrebe. " I don't 
want you to do anything, mother ; only you '11 
know if you miss me." 

" Yes ; and I want to tell you, Phoebe. Several 
years back I 've kinder taken comfort a-fixin' for 
this time. I 've hed a chance now 'nd then to sew 
a little, 'nd I've made ye a set o' things when 
you was off to school odd times, 'nd washed 
'em up' nd put 'em up chamber for ye in the old 
press drawers. Then I Ve laid up some little too, 
out of a dozen of eggs here, 'nd a little milk there, 
'nd twenty gold dollars grandmother give me be 
fore she died. I guess there 's nigh about fifty 
by this time ; and the black silk dress aunt Sary 
sent me from York, arter her Sam spent that 
year here, never 's ben cut. You better take that 
to Taunton to-morrer to be made." 

" Oh, mother ! " 

" Well, dear, you 're all I 've got. Why should n't 
I? Oh, that pesky calf ! " and just in time to di 
vert sentiment into a safer channel, the calf threw 
up its head, knocked the good woman backward 
into the dirt, and with tail high in air, and its four 
feet apparently going four ways at once, began one 



26 GRIT. 

of those wild canters about the yard which calves 
indulge in. Phoebe had to laugh, as her mother, 
indignant but unhurt* rose up from the ground, and 
old Fyler at the kitchen window grinned with 
amusement. So Phoebe transported her modest 
fitting-out little by little to Julia Potter, who was 
her only confidante in the matter, and could not 
even see Phoebe, but punctually went for the bun 
dles, when Tom was notified that they would be 
left in the further barn, which opened on another 
road, for better convenience in haying. The black 
silk dress also was consigned to her care, with 
Phoebe's new bonnet, sent by express from Taun- 
ton along with the dress. 

The day set for Phoebe's departure was the 3d 
of July, since the racket and wakefulness which 
pervade even country towns on this anniversary 
would make Tom's late drive less noticeable. In the 
afternoon of the sultry day ominous flashes of tem 
pest began to play about the far horizon, whence 
all day long great " thunder-caps " had rolled 
their still and solemn heights of rounded pearl and 
shadow upward through the stainless blue of hea 
ven. Phoebe gave her mother a stringent hug and 
kiss on the stairs as she went up, little knowing how 
that mother's heart sank in her breast, or how dim 
were the sad eyes that dared not let a tear fall to 
relieve them. By nine o'clock the house was still, 
except for low mutterings of the storm and distant 
wheels hurrying through the night, which made 
Phoebe's heart beat wildly. She made a small 



GRIT. 27 

bundle of needful things, wrapped it in a little 
shawl, put on her hat, and, taking her shoes in her 
hand, slipped softly out of the window to the shed 
roof, and thence to the ground. She felt like a 
guilty thing enough as she stole over the hencoop 
and roused the fluttering fowls, bringing out an 
untimely crow from one young rooster. But the 
thought of Tom and her father nerved her to ac 
tion. Putting on her shoes hastily, she took a bee- 
line for Green's wood, where, at the corner of a 
certain fence, she was to find Tom and Julia. The 
storm was coming up now rapidly, but Phoebe did 
not feel any fear ; the frequent flashes blinded 
her, but the road was plain after she had passed 
through the home lots and found the highway ; 
and she met no one, as she had feared, for even 
those irrepressible patriots, the boys, had sought 
shelter from probable rain that would spoil their 
powder and wet their fire-crackers. But when 
Phoebe arrived at the rendezvous, her heart beat 
thick with trouble or fear, for no one was there. 
She knew Tom had got her letter ; he had left a 
rapturous answer in its place, but what had kept 
him ? 

She sat down among the sweet-fern bushes and 
tufts of long grass to quiet herself and think, and 
being a cool-headed, reasonable girl, composed her 
self to the idea that something had delayed her 
lover, and she must have patience ; but as the 
minutes went on long and slow enough, the thun 
der pealing loud and louder, the lightning darting 



28 GEIT. 

swift lances from heaven to earth, and a sharp 
rush of rain rattling on the stiff oak leaves above 
her, Phoebe determined to go home ; not without a 
certain indignation in her heart at the carelessness 
of the man who ought to have been not only ready, 
but waiting to receive her, but also a reserve of 
judgment, for she had a great trust in Tom. 
Drenched to the skin, and chilled by the cold wind 
that rose with the storm, she retraced her steps, 
and dragging a short ladder from the cow-shed, 
contrived to get back on the roof, wet and slippery 
as it was ; but to her dismay and wonder the win 
dow of her room was not only shut, but tightly fas 
tened, and the paper shade let down before it. 
Her father, waking with the noise of the heavy 
thunder, bethought himself of the lambs in the 
paddock, not being certain that Phoebe had re 
membered to fold them. He got up and hobbled 
to the stairs, calling her loudly, but with no reply. 
In vain his wife urged him to lie down while she 
called Phoebe ; he wanted to scold her awake, and 
with pains and groans he drew himself up the 
stairs, only to find her bed untouched and her win 
dow open. At once the state of things flashed 
upon him ; he did not swear, but setting his lips at 
their utmost vicious angle, shut and fastened the 
window, and let down the shade, fancying Phrebe 
had gone out to meet her lover, and would try to 
return. 

" I Ve fixed the jade," was his first utterance, as 
he reentered his own room. " She 's gone 'nd 



GEIT. 29 

slipped out o' the winder for to meet that darned 
Potter feller. See ef she '11 git in agin. A good 
wettin' down '11 sarve her right." 

" Oh, Reuben ! " remonstrated his wife. 

" You shet up. She 's got to ketch it, I tell ye," 
he growled back ; and his wife, consoled by the 
belief that her darling was by that time in kindly 
hands, lay down again and slept, to be roused an 
hour after by a loud knocking at the back door. 

" What ye want ? " demanded the old man, who 
had not slept, but waited for this result. 

" It 's me, father," said Phoebe's resolute voice. 
" Let me in ; I 'm out in the rain." 

Mrs. Fyler sprang from her bed, but Reuben 
caught her arm and pulled her back. 

" You lie still, I tell ye," he growled ; and then 
went on, in a louder key, " Folks don't come into 
my door by night onless they 've gone out on 't." 

" Let me in, father ; it 's me, Phoebe. I 'm 
wet through." 

The poor mother made one more effort to rise, 
but was held with vise-like grasp, as her lord and 
master retorted, 

"No wet folks wanted here. You could ha' 
staid in ef you 'd ha' wanted to keep dry." 

Phoebe's spirit rose at the taunt. Had she been 
let in, even to receive the expected indignation and 
scolding, there would have been no second exploit 
of the kind, for she was thoroughly disgusted with 
herself and partially with her lover ; but when 
steel strikes steel, it is only to elicit sparks. Her 



80 ' GEIT. 

" Fyler grit " took possession of her. Picking up 
her soaked bundle, she set out for the Potter farm, 
which lay two long miles away, on a hillside, and 
was approached by a wood road as well as the 
highway. But the wood road was the shortest and 
most lonely. She was sure to meet no one in that 
grassy track. So she struck into it at once. 

A weary walk it proved. The storm went on 
with unabated fury. Rain poured fiercely down. 
Her rough way was full of stones, of fallen boughs, 
and crossed by new-made brooks from the moun 
tain springs, suddenly filled and overflowing. But, 
with stubborn courage, Phoebe kept on, though 
more than once she fell at length among the drip 
ping weeds and grasses, and was sorely bruised by 
stones and jarred by the fall. 

But it was a resolved and rosy face that pre 
sented itself when the kitchen door of the farm 
house on Potter Hill opened to a firm, sharp 
knock. There were friendly lights in the win 
dows, and Mrs. Potter's kind old countenance 
beamed with pity and surprise as she beheld Phoebe 
on the doorstep. 

" Mercy's sakes alive, Phoebe ! You be half 
drowned, child. Come in, come in, quick ! 
Where 's Tom and July ? " 

" Well," said Phoebe, with a little laugh, " that 's 
just what I 'd like to know." 

"You don't mean to say they hain't fetched ye? 
Why, how under the canopy did ye get here ? " 

So Phoebe told her tale of woe, while her wet 



GRIT. 31 

clothes were taken off by the old lady (who was 
watching for the party, and had sent the " help " 
and the younger part of the family to bed hours 
ago), and was told, in her turn, how Tom anc 1 his 
sister had set off at half past eight, and how they 
had been expected back " ever 'nd ever so long," 
so that Phoebe was supposed to have come with 
them when she appeared. 

" I '11 bet a cent that colt 's run away. Tom 
would take the colt. He thought the old hoss was 
kinder feeble 'nd slow-goin'. But I'd ruther ha' 
took him slow 'nd sure, ye know." 

Here was food for anxiety ; but it did not last 
long, for wheels rattled up from the highway side 
of the house, an angry " Whoa, whoa, I tell ye ! " 
was heard outside, and in a moment Tom strode 
in, half carrying his sister, wet with rain and cry 
ing. 

" Take care o' Jule, mother ; she 's about dead. 
There ain't a cent's worth o' grit in her." 

A low laugh stopped him very suddenly. He 
looked round, and there, by the little blaze in the 
chimney, which had been lit to warm her a cup of 
tea, sat Phoebe, rosy, smiling, and prettier than 
ever, in Julia's pink calico gown and a soft white 
shawl of his mother's. 

" Tom ! Tom ! you '11 get her all damp again ! " 
screamed Mrs. Potter ; from which it may be in 
ferred what Tom was about. 

However, Phoebe seemed to be used to damp 
ness. Perhaps the night's experience had hard- 



32 GRIT. 

ened her, for she made no effort to withdraw from 
this present second-hand shower, while Tom ex 
plained how the colt had been frightened, just as 
they drove by the post-office, at a giant crvkcr. 
and dashed off down the meadow road at full sp^r. 1 
This would not have mattered if a sudden jolt li 
not broken one side of the thills short off, where 
upon the colt kicked and plunged till he broke the 
other, and with a sudden dash pulled Tom all but 
out of the wagon, tore the reins out of his hands, 
and set off at full speed, leaving them three miles 
from Green's wood, two from any house, with a 
broken wagon, no horse, and an approaching tem 
pest. There was nothing to do but to walk back 
to the village, hire another " team," and through 
the pouring storm drive to Green's wood on the 
chance of seeing Phoebe. 

Naturally the}' did not see her ; and then Tom 
in despair drove round to Reuben Fyler's house, 
whistled under Phoebe's window, rattled pebbles 
against the pane, and at last knocked at the door, 
but with no sign or answer to reward him. Then 
Julia insisted on being taken home, and Tom was 
forced to yield, since he was at his wits' end, and 
there he found Phoebe. 

" Tom, be still ! " was the irrelevant remark ut 
tered by Phoebe at the end of the recital, and she 
blushed more rosily than ever as she said it. 

But Mrs. Potter, with motherly sense, served 
the hot supper that had been covered up in the 
chimney-corner so long, and when it had been 



GRIT. 33 

done justice to in the most unsentimental manner, 
sent the whole party peremptorily to their rooms. 

In the morning the runaway colt was brought 
home bright and early, and Tom put him into the 
borrowed wagon and drove off with Phoebe, Julia, 
and his mother to the minister's house, where Par 
son Russell gave him undeniable rights to run away 
with Phoebe hereafter as much as he liked. 

The news came quickly to her father's ears, and, 
strange to say, the old man chuckled. Perhaps 
his comments will explain. " Stumped it all the 
way up there in the dark, did she ? thunderin' an' 
lightnin' too. Well, now, I tell ye, there ain't 
another gal in Pasco darst to ha' done it. She 's 
clear Fyler. Our folks ain't made o' all dust ; 
they 're three quarter grit, you kin swear to 't. 
The darned little cretur ! she beats all. Well ! 
well! well! Wife, hain't you heerd what aunt 
Nabby 's a-sayiu ? " 

" Yes, I did." 

" Law, Mr. Fyler," put in aunt Nabby, " I 
thought ye 'd be madder 'n a yaller hornet." 

" So ye come to hear me buzz, did ye ? 'T ain't 
safe to reckon on folks. Mis' Fyler, you fetch 
your bunnet ; I '11 tell Sam to harness up, 'nd you 
drive up to Potter's 'nd see the gal. She 's a chip 
o' the old block. I guess I '11 let her hev that 'ere 
brown 'nd white heifer for a settin' up. 'T ain't 
best, nuther, to fight with the blacksmith, when 
there ain't but one handy." 

" Well, now, I am beat," muttered aunt Nabby. 



34 GRIT. 

" I thought ye 'd ha' held out ugly to the day o' 
judgment, I 've heern tell so much about Fyler 
grit." 

"I think it's likely," was the composed reply. 
" It 's bad ye 're disapp'inted, ain't it ? but did n't 
it never come to ye that it takes more grit to back 
down hill than to go 'long up it ? " 

" Mebbe it doos mebbe it doos," said aunt 
Nabby, shaking her head with the wisdom of an 
owl, 



MARY ANN'S MIND. 

" The lobster loves the lobster pot, 
The mackerel loves the sea, 
And I, I love but thee, Mary Ann ; 
Mary Ann, Mary Ann ; Mary Ann, 
Mary Ann ; Mary Ann, I love but thee ! " 

JAKE HAZARD shouted out this snatch of sea 
song at the top of his pleasant voice, as he pushed 
his old whaleboat off the beach on the reluctant 
rollers, and at last launched her in the water. 

" That 's tellin', ain't it? " inquired Hosy Long, 
with a comic cast of his eye across the boat at 
Jake, as he shoved at her other side with brawny 
shoulders and deep breaths of effort. 

" Haw, haw! " roared Jake. " Ain't you smart, 
Hosy ? I 'xpect you can see through a millstone 's 
quick 's the next man ! " 

Hosy grinned horribly ; he was not a brilliant 
creature, but he could catch fish better than any 
man on the shore, and when you go bluefishing 
that 's the sort of companion you want. 

Now everybody in Sandy Creek knew Jake 
Hazard was mortally in love with Mary Ann 
Tucker ; he had made no secret of it, and she, be 
ing a born coquette, treated Jake in cat-and-mouse 
fashion, till he was as nearly crazy as a hard- 



36 MAEY ANN'S MIND. 

headed young fellow with no nerves and a mighty 
digestion can possibly be. If I said Mary Ann 
was the prettiest girl in the town I should do her 
great injustice ; for she was the only pretty girl 
there; the two or three tanned, freckled, good- 
natured daughters of the Hazards, and Tuckers, 
and Conklins, who were " the girls " of Sandy 
Creek, never pretended to be pretty ; they went 
their way in peace, dug clams, baked short 
cakes, made chowder, and darned stockings, un 
disturbed by lovers or rivalry ; in due time some 
body married them, because everybody could n't 
marry Mary Ann, and thereafter they lived their 
lives out as they might ; but at Mary Ann's feet, 
sooner or later, every young man in the town bowed 
down and fell. 

She was a very pretty girl. Her long thick 
hair, of the darkest, richest red, waved in great 
loose ripples to her knees when it fell out of the 
heavy braid in which she wore it. Her skin was 
fair beyond all tanning, and if it was a little frec 
kled nobody saw it in the abundant and lovely 
color of her rounded cheeks. A low, wide fore 
head, a dimpled chin, a saucy nose, full scarlet 
lips, and a pair of wicked, laughing, dark eyes, 
with lashes and brows of deep brown-red, make up 
a fair catalogue of charms. 

And then she was " everlastin' smart." Nobody 
kept so clean a house as she did for her father, 
nobody made such sea-pie, chowder, or clam frit 
ters. She fried fish to such crisp perfection that 



MARY ANN'S MIND. 37 

the lighthouse people always wanted to stop at 
Sam Tucker's when they had city company and 
took them out fishing, but Miss Mary Ann did 
not approve of " keepin' tavern," she said, so the 
light - keeper had to fry his own fish. Then she 
was exquisitely neat, a virtue rare among a fish 
ing people familiar with the unsavory produce of 
their nets, as heads, tails, or shells lie about the 
doors, odorous if not ornamental, till the very hens' 
eggs have a fishy flavor. But Sam Tucker's door 
step was always swept of every grain of sand or 
bit of refuse. Two little posy beds boarded up 
against the wall sweetened the air with pinks, 
sweet basil, and a few hardy roses in their season ; 
there was a scrupulously white bit of a curtain 
across every little window, and the well-scrubbed 
floors had bright rugs here and there where foot 
of man might rest, and save the planks needless 
stain or spot. If the curtains were old cotton or 
bits of sailcloth, they were still snow white ; and 
that the rugs were braided of rags, scarlet shirts 
worn beyond any more patching, or the remains of 
a bright blue petticoat or a gray vest, and black 
list which the tailoress gave away, did not make 
them less gay and tasteful in tint. 

Old Sam's clothes were patched with such neat 
patches, the buttons so invariable, the red shirt 
always so bright, that he was a matter of wonder 
and admiration all along shore. And if Mary 
Ann did her housework and scoured her tins and 
floor, and weeded her posy bed, protected by a big 

350433 



38 MARY ANN'S MIND. 

crash bib apron and a slat-sided sunbonnet, when 
the apron came off, and she sat down to knit or 
sew, or strolled on the beach in the afternoon, then 
she was always arrayed in a neat and pretty calico 
gown or a deep blue gingham ; always with some 
white thing about her round throat, not the least 
shade of fashion, to be sure, but a clean and pure 
ruffle, or a queer old collar clear-starched to per 
fection, or a strip of coarse lace tied in such a trim 
bow. When you capped this full, wholesome 
figure and clean attire with the beautiful, saucy, 
rosy face, shining under a wide black straw hat 
that Sam Tucker bought for his " gal " years ago 
in Boston, half with an idea that it was respectful 
in her to have " a black bun net," as he called it, 
because her mother was dead (poor woman, she 
had been dead six years then), and half because, 
having seen a very pretty girl at White Rocks, 
where he went every year to take out sailing 
parties, with just such a hat, he thought Mary 
Ann would become it, then, though you did not 
see a Broadway belle, you saw a wonderfully pretty 
girl, especially when the old black hat was set off 
by a plume of waving grass from the salt marsh, a 
cluster of pink wild roses, a string of glittering 
yellow shells, a garland of gay sea mosses, or a 
pompon of rich goldenrod put in with the artistic 
effect a French milliner's fingers might have longed 
to imitate, and longed in vain. Moreover, the girl 
had a good straight shape of her own ; there was 
room in the shapely chest for a cheery, ringing 



MARY ANN'S MIND. 39 

voice that was the delight of old Sam as it trolled 
the quaint songs of the fisherman or a good loud 
Methodist hymn, and her strong arms, if they were 
not white, were both round and dimpled. 

No wonder Mary Ann had so many lovers. 
Perhaps no wonder that she did not choose one. 
It is pleasant as well as provident to have a 
good many strings to your bow, and when Jake 
Hazard had to go bluefishing in earnest, not for 
fun, and she did not want to be crowded with dead 
fish, and wet lines, and two or three men, into 
a dirty boat all day long, there was always Joe 
Tucker or Ephraim Conklin to go after berries 
with her, or some other Conklin, or Tucker, or 
Hazard to take her crabbing, or shoot peeps for 
her, rewarded thereafter by a supper of crabs or 
peep pie, savory meats which Mary Ann perfectly 
understood preparing. So she really never seemed 
to care about marrying anybody. She had her 
father to look after, and time enough to enjoy her 
youth, and her beauty, and her adorers. But all 
this profited the adorers nothing. She eluded any 
grasp that might fix her anywhere, like a sagacious 
swallow that will wheel and flit about your head if 
you sit still enough, but if you move hand or foot 
darts off into space with a derisive twitter, and is 
seen no more. So the lovers gradually dropped 
off. They would have given their very best pos 
sessions to move her careless heart, but it was evi- 
lent that all the inducements they could offer were 
iseless. They were practical beings, men wanting 



40 MARY ANN'S MIND. 

a home and a wife to keep the home and them tidy 
and thrifty. Sentiment being put out of the ques 
tion, they turned to the creed of " the fat-faced 
curate Edward Bull : " 

" A pretty face is well, and this is well, 
To have a dame indoors, that trims us up, 
And keeps us tight," 

finding plenty of good, honest girls in the scattered 
village, less coy and scornful than the beauty of 
Sandy Creek. But Jake Hazard remained faith 
ful ; his nature was strong and true. The quips 
and cranks of his fun and good-humor were but 
the crest of foam bells on a forceful and persistent 
depth, a constant and mighty tide setting toward 
one shore. Perhaps Mary Ann did not perceive 
this fact ; perhaps she thought him gay and care 
less, as young men are apt to be. It certainly 
never crossed her mind, as a real and earnest ques 
tion, whether she meant to marry Jake, or even if 
he meant to marry her ; but on his part the matter 
was thoroughly settled, though till to-day he had 
never spoken of it. Perhaps it was the brilliant 
day, for it was June, and the air was vivid with 
sky above and sea below, and the cool salt breath 
of the ocean inspired even languid lungs and faint 
ing vitality like a powerful elixir. The great 
green waves reared up along the shore, shaking 
white crests of foam in splendid defiance, and dash 
ing their mighty length upon the sand, crumbled 
back with hissing crush of ten thousand tiny bub 
bles on their line, only to rise and charge again 



MARY ANN'S MIND. 41 

with swing, and roar, and crash, till the shore trem 
bled. Outside, the long waves swung the old 
whaleboat up and down with mad delight. The 
bluefish leaped at the bait with eager, venomous 
heads, and tore and plunged when they felt the 
hook, showing such fight that it was keen sport 
to draw them, gleaming and jumping, through 
the water and over the gunwale, and throw them 
on to the glistening heap that already covered the 
bottom. Jake's gray eyes glowed with excitement, 
the blood rose in his tanned cheek, his white teeth 
showed, set and firm, under the half-open lips, and 
his swaying muscular figure would have been a 
fine study for an artist. 

" Ginger ! this here 's sport, ain't it? " sung out 
Hosy Long. 

" Pretty good, pretty good ! " Jake shouted 
back to him, setting his teeth together in a short, 
?harp contest with the biggest bluefish of the haul, 
vvhich in another minute lay flapping and boun 
ding at Hosy's feet. 

" Dang it all ! that 's a most monstrous fish, 
Fake." 

" That 's the sockdolager, old feller." 

"Well, naow," said Hosy, keeping the boat 
rimmed carefully while Jake rebaited his line, 
' that 'ere one would be tasty for supper, I tell 
/ou, briled on the coals, 'nd buttered up, long o' a 
jood shortcake 'nd some store tea." 

Hosy paused and gloated on the fine fat fish 
rith blinking green eyes and broad red face, that 



42 MARY ANN'S MIND. 

was the picture of good-humor. Then he took to 
speech again : 

" Ef you 'd got an old woman naow, Jake, to your 
house, I 'xpect you 'nd me would have a fustrate 
supper for one time, would n't we ? " 

" I reckon," answered Jake, feeling on his taut 
line to see if it were stretched by the ebbing tide 
or a pulling fish. " An' what 's more, Hosy, I 'm 
gqin' to hev a house 'n' home afore I 'm gray, I 
tell ye." 

" Lor, naow ! you be ? What does Mary Ann 
say to thet sarcumstance ? " 

" She 's got to say somethin' afore long. I 'm 
tired o' foolin'," muttered Jake between his teeth, 
giving a vicious jerk to his line, which was ra 
ging up and down at the mercy of another fish, 
which, however, he speedily hauled in and added 
to the flapping heap. " I say, Hosy, 't ain't no 
good to flounder round on a hook. I 'd get off 
on 't ef I tore my jaw out, soon 's I found 't was 
for sport folks was ketchin' me ; bizness 's another 
matter." 

" Wall, wall, she 's a young cretur. Mebbe she 
dono what she doos want." 

" That ain't my sitooation by the Lord, sir I I 
know what I want ennyway, and I '11 hev it or let 
it go, smack and smooth, afore new moon comes 
agin, or my name ain't Jake Hazard." 

Hosy's simple soul quivered at the stern and 
almost fierce energy of Jake's declaration. Not 
that he was afraid himself, but he saw breakers 



MARY ANN'S MIND. 43 

ahead, as he would have phrased it, storms of pas 
sion and excitement, an end to quiet fishing bouts 
with Jake, lazy, pleasant strolls after blueberries 
with Mary Ann, and cozy suppers at Sam Tucker's. 
He was an ease-loving, weak-kneed brother, ready 
to sell what he called his soul at any time for 
peace or pottage, the very type of man who wrecks 
his own life and ruins others for the want of a lit 
tle courage and candor, whose cry was always the 
selfish howl of " Let me alone," " after me the 
deluge." But Hosy's lazy longing for peace could 
work no wreck or woe in Jake's affairs, though he 
made a feeble effort to " save the pieces " in an in 
terview with Mary Ann that very night, being de 
puted, as soon as they came in with their spoils, to 
carry the big fish up to Sam Tucker's as a present 
from Jake. Mary Ann met him with beaming 
eyes. 

" Well, I declare, that 's jest what I wanted, for 
aunt Semanthy 's come to supper, 'nd uncle Royal, 
and I had n't a special thing for 'em, bread, 'n' 
butter, 'n' sass, 'n' dried halibut, that 's all." 

" This is the king o' the crowd," said Hosy, 
looking at the beautiful silver-bellied, blue-backed 
creature with honest admiration. "I guess he made 
'em fly down below. He come up with a rush 
naow, I tell ye, but Jake was too much for him. 
Jake 's a masterful critter as ever I see. Say, 
Mary Ann," and here his voice fell into an omi 
nous whisper, " you look out for Jake. Counsel 
with me naow. Ef I be a poor feller I 've got sense 



44. MARY ANN'S MIND. 

into me. You let Jake hev his head giner'lly. 
'T will be a vast better for you ef ye do." 

" What air you a-talkin' about, Hosy Long ? " 
retorted Mary Ann with an air of genuine aston 
ishment. 

"Oh, nothin', nothin' much, nothin' pertikler, 
only 'f I was you I would n't be the one to get 
ath'art o' Jake's hawse, not ef " 

" I 'd jist hev you to know, sir," snapped Mary 
Ann, the quick color rising " angry and brave," 
in her glowing cheeks, "I'd jist hev, you to 
know that Jake Hazard's nothin' to me, nor I 
ain't goin' to cotton to no man because he 's mas 
terful. I guess I can be masterful myself, if I 'm 
a mind to, so there." With which shake out of her 
flag she slammed the door in Hosy's face, and that 
dejected being bewailed himself plaintively enough. 

" Oh, Lord ! I 've gone an' done it naow, ef I 
never did afore. I hope to glory 'n' goodness she 
won't never tell Jake. I 'm darned to thunderation 
ef I don't believe she will ! Oh, Jeerus'lem ! " 

And Hosy betook himself to the fish house, 
scratching his sandy poll ruefully as he went, but 
resolved to say nothing to Jake, and to answer 
everything he might be asked thereafter with 
wholesale and persistent denial. 

Yet after all he had done Jake an unconscious 
service, for Mary Ann was fully and fairly brought 
to ask herself if what she had just now said in her 
sudden anger was really the truth. Suppose Hosy 
told Jake what she did say, and he took it for 



MARY ANN'S MIND. 45 

granted that she really did not care for him at all ? 
It was a small point to rankle in Mary Ann's 
mind, but it was the point of a wedge. She cooked 
the big bluefish for supper with her usual skill, 
and while its crisp brown surface and creamy 
flakes of flesh were being disposed of, with sundry 
flattering remarks both to fisherman and cook, she 
fretted inwardly a little, while she was pleased 
enough with the commendations. 

But Mary Ann was not metaphysical there 
are some benefits after all in a want of education ; 
if you do not know how to analyze your emotions, 
and take your " inwardness " to pieces as a bota 
nist does a flower, you are spared much futile 
speculation into profitless subjects, much soul- 
wearying and unhappy consciousness, and may 
live and die even as a blossom in simple trust and 
peace. Mary Ann went about her work with no 
special self-torment after the first uneasy idea of 
Jake and his possibilities had entered her mind. 
If she thought of him a little oftener, and re 
membered what uncle R'yal had said about " them 
Hazards," as a family, and how aunt Semanthy 
had echoed, " Yis ; they 're dreadful reliable folks, 
allers was. Gran'ther Hazard was one of the 
smartest men ever ye see. Good for a fishin' bout 
up to ninety year old ; spry as a cricket ; did n't 
hev no sickness so to speak durin' his lifetime, an' 
died of a shockanum palsy to the last." Why, all 
this was what she knew before, so she thought no 
more about it the next day, but hurried her work 



46 MARY ANN'S MIND. 

over, and putting on her hat, took a basket and set 
her face inland toward a hill where wild strawber 
ries grew thick and sweet. There was a long walk 
before her across the fields, and the sandy lanes were 
too heavy to choose as a path when the short turf 
lay crisply in the lots, so she stepped over the 
low wall of loose stone, and thereby came within 
the range of Jake's vision just as he dragged his 
boat up the beach, having been across the bay to 
the lighthouse. He overtook her soon with his 
long strides, and Mary Ann was glad enough to 
have company. With a certain native tact, Jake 
forbore to intrude his passion on her notice till the 
basket was filled with fragrant berries, and they 
sat down a moment for a rest on a fallen tree. 
Neither of them consciously admired nature, but 
yet they felt a serene calm that hung over the 
view spread out before them, the gently heaving, 
beryl sea, the still, blue heaven, the distant and 
incessant murmur of white waves lapping the shore, 
the dull green fields bordered with tawny sand, 
and far away the lighthouse tower and the sailing 
ships that drifted to or from the wide horizon, all 
these stole into their senses and kept them silent 
for a while, but Jake's heart burned within him. 
It was not his way to put off a crisis, to mince 
matters ; he was full of curt courage and resolve, 
and now he had business of mortal import to him 
to settle with Mary Ann, he neither could nor 
would delay it, so he broke the silence somewhat 
abruptly: 



MARY ANN'S MIND. 47 

" Mary Ann," said he, " I suppose you 've seen 
quite a spell that I like you fustrate. I Ve spoke 
it loud enough in actions, but I know folks has 
g-ot to use words sometimes ef they want answers, 
and I do want one the wust way. Will you marry 
me, Mary Ann ? " 

The hot color rushed up to the girl's face. She 
was startled, and a traitorous echo in her own 
heart startled her more than Jake's words. She 
had a bunch of sweet fern in her hand, and she 
began to pull the odorous leaves off one by one, 
as an excuse for keeping her eyes cast down. 

" Will you ? Say ! " repeated Jake. 

" We-ell, I dono, Jake. I hain't thought o' 
such a thing." 

The coquettish nature was uppermost now. Her 
lips curled at the corners with a wicked little 
smile, her eyes sparkled, and her voice grew arch. 

" Time you did," retorted Jake. " I 've been 
a-hangin' round ye this two year, 's though the sun 
rose 'nd sot in your face, 'nd I can't stan' it no 
longer. I want to know suthin' for sartin, Mary 
Ann." 

"Well you see," slowly pulling the fern leaves, 
" I don't know I haven 't made up my mind 
yet about marryin'." 

" Make it up now, then." 

" Mercy to me, Jake Hazard. What an idea 
no, sir ; I ain't a-goin' to hurry for nobody. I 
can live 'thout gettin' married, I guess, ef you 
can't." 



48 MARY ANN'S MIND. 

" I didn 't say I could n't," growled Jake. " I 
don't calkerlate to die for nobody ; but I sha'n't 
marry nobody but you, Mary Ann Tucker, and I 
want to know ef I 'm goin' to do that." 

Mary Ann gave a little laugh. It was not 
heartless, though it seemed so to Jake, who was in 
dead earnest. It was merely an outlet of the inner 
excitement she really felt, and she followed it up 
with the truth, though she spoke it with a certain 
levity. "I don't see how you're going to know 
when I don't know myself. I told ye I had n't 
made up my mind." 

" Well, how long is it goin' to take ye to do 
it ? " ventured the wrathful lover, who longed to 
shake her soundly for her naughtiness, thoroughly 
misunderstanding her, as men will misunderstand 
women till the day of judgment, especially if they 
are in love with them. 

" I don't know that," she answered. 

Jake controlled his rising rage manfully. 
"Well, then," said he, rising, and looking down at 
her, " I give ye notice, Mary Ann, I shall keep 
askin' till I find out ; onless I ; m onlucky enough 
to b'lieve you don't want to know yerself." 

She laughed again, but made no answer. 
They walked silently down the hill together, and 
parted at her door. Mary Ann meant to have 
asked him in to tea, for she was about to prepare 
that barbarous dainty, a strawberry shortcake, for 
supper, aunt Semanthy having brought down from 
her farm a pail of cream the day before. But 



MARY ANN'S MIND. 49 

Jake had unwittingly deprived himself of the 
feast ; and even if Mary Ann had not been too dis 
turbed to ask him, both luscious berries and unc 
tuous shortcake would have been gall and bitter 
ness to his lips, for he was terribly disappointed. 
Perhaps he would not have been so miserable if 
she had said " No," finally. There are some na 
tures to which suspense is worse than despair ; and 
his was one of that sort. 

Mary Ann, fortunately for herself, had an ab 
sorbing object in view, besides her housework. 
There was to be a clam-bake at Point Peter on the 
Fourth of July, at which all the village of Sandy 
Creek, even to the babies in arms, expected to 
be present, and long ago she had promised Jake 
to go in his boat ; not alone, for Hosy Long and 
Anny Hazard, and Joe Conklin and his wife, were 
of that boatload, as well as her father ; so that her 
late interview with Jake need not embarrass her on 
this occasion. But she had to make a new dress 
and some fresh ruffles, both necessitating a drive 
to Natick Pier, the nearest village ; and then the 
shaping and sewing of the festive attire at home, 
after it was bought, occupied her head and hands 
for at least two weeks, in the intervals of house 
work. 

Jake thought of her all the time, on sea and 
land ; dreamed of her by night, and sung about 
her by day, when he was alone, and far enough 
from shore to be unheard. Nor did he leave her 
quite at peace ; for once, as she sat on the door- 



50 MAEY ANN'S MIND. 

step busily stitching at her gown, the sunlight gild 
ing her burnished hair, and deepening the hue of 
her bright cheeks and lips, Jake came up from 
the shore, and suddenly darkened those level west 
ern rays with stern and sad aspect. 

" Have you made up your mind, Mary Ann ? " 
he asked her distinctly and sorrowfully. 

Mary Ann was vexed ; this was too much. She 
snapped back pertly enough, " No, I have n't, and 
I sha'n't never if you 're a-goin' to pester me so ! " 

" Yes, you will," was the deliberate reply, much 
in the tone of a schoolmaster to a naughty boy, 
and Jake walked away. If he had turned to look 
back he would have seen her crying bitterly, half 
with rage, it is true, but at least half because he 
walked away. 

Another week went by, and one hot afternoon 
Mary Ann and three or four of her friends had 
gone down to bathe. The girls at Sandy Creek 
knew how to swim, as well as the boys ; and these 
extempore mermaids liked to splash about in the 
fresh coolness of the water almost as if they had 
been the genuine kind, though there was nothing 
siren in their aspect. They had bathed and 
dressed, and were going home from the retired 
little cove which was set apart for their use, when 
Jake Hazard appeared, carrying an armful of fish 
ing tackle, bait, scoop, and lines, and a big basket 
of fish. His way home lay by Sam Tucker's door, 
while the rest went further down the beach. Mary 
Ann walked on a little before him, her long drip- 



MARY ANN'S MIND. 51 

ping tresses hanging to her knees, coiling and curl 
ing, as the salt breeze blew them about her, in a 
thousand darkly shining rings, and her white, 
shapely ankles betrayed by the short skirt she 
wore, for the day was so hot that she had gone 
barefoot to the beach. They went along in silence, 
till, just as they reached the door, Jake said, in a 
low voice, perfectly audible, however, to this ono 
hearer : 

" Mary Ann, have you made up your mind ? " 

Mary Ann was exasperated. Who would not 
have been ? She faced Jake with the look of a 
creature at bay in her dark eyes. " No, sir ! and 
I never '11 find it till you stop pesterin', there ! " 

Jake looked at her, full-faced, with a determined 
expression that almost daunted her. " I never 
shall stop till I know," he answered gravely ; 
and went his way. 

Mary Ann was angry ; but she was also scared. 
When a man falls back on his masculine suprem 
acy, the eternal fitness of things demands that a 
woman shall give way. And she does, though she 
may not always show it. Mary Ann began to feel, 
rather than to think, that Jake was, in her fashion 
of speech, " the biggest," and from that moment 
began to find out that she loved him. Yet she 
would not tell him so. 

The Fourth of July came at last, bright, hot, 
beaming, as holiday weather should be, and at 
nine o'clock Mary Ann's fire was out, her house 
was in order, her big basket of bread, butter, cold 



52 MABY ANN'S MIND. 

coffee, and pickles neatly packed, her father sit 
ting on the doorstep, and she beside him, wait 
ing for the boat. A pretty picture they made, - 
Sam in his Sunday clothes, with his coat over his 
arm, his spotless shirtsleeves scarce whiter than 
the silvery hair that showed under his brown felt 
hat, and his wrinkled, kindly face and keen, dark 
eye pleasant as the day itself ; and Mary Ann, in 
the new pink -and -white calico, her pretty head 
rising from a full, soft ruffle, clear and snowy, and 
her old black hat smartened up with a white mus 
lin scarf about the crown, and a bunch of pinks, 
from the posy bed, fastened in the bow, their clean, 
spicy breath perfuming the air about her. 

Jake Hazard looked at her with adoring eyes. 
His mind was made up even more than usual, if 
that were possible ; for he had devised a plan, to 
be carried out that very day, which should, once for 
all, end his suspense ; since he too had concluded, 
in the spirit of the old distich : 

" He either fears his fate too much, 
Or his desert is small, 
Who fears to put it to the touch, 
To win or lose it all." 

Certainly Mary Ann would not have gone to 
ward her fate as well as the boat with such a 
happy and smiling face, had she known what was 
before her. 

The journey over to Point Peter was delightful. 
A light breeze filled the sail, and flapped the long 
red pennant above it. There was plenty of fun 



MAEY ANN'S MIND. 53 

and laughter ; Jake himself seemed as gay as the 
rest, and Mary Ann owned to herself, as she 
looked at him furtively from under her broad hat, 
that he was " awful good-looking ! " And less 
prejudiced observers might agree with her. Jake's 
simple costume of white duck trousers and a dark 
blue flannel shirt, a wide-brimmed straw hat, set 
well on the thick curls of his fine head, and the 
keen animation of his clear-cut, honest face below 
it, were certainly picturesque. 

They landed at Point Peter in the best of hu 
mors ; and immediately the preparations for the 
clam-bake began, for the rest of the company were 
there before them. For a wonder all went right ; 
there were no mishaps, no vexations. The simple 
fisher-folk, in their primitive fashion, enjoyed the 
rare holiday to the top of their bent. After din 
ner, Jake proposed to Mary Ann that they should 
take a rowboat and go up Natick Bay to Blue 
berry Island, where the low blueberries already 
dotted the turf with dwarf brush loaded with tur 
quoise spheres. 

" If Hosy and Anny will go," said Mary Ann. 

So Hosy was sent after Anny, and Mary Ann 
walked down to the boat with Jake, and sitting 
down on one of the seats, with her face shoreward, 
to watch for the others, Jake, being behind her, 
silently piit the oars in place, and with one sudden 
sweep of his powerful arms drove it off. Mary 
Ann cried out. 

" Well," tranquilly replied Jake, " we might as 
well be rowin' round till they come." 



64 MARY ANN'S MIND. 

But Mary Ann observed that, instead of " row- 
in' round," the boat headed straight for the mouth 
of the bay, and remonstrated accordingly. 

" Well, well, Mary Ann, I '11 just put ye ashore 
on the Kock, 'nd go back and fetch 'em along, ef 
you say so. You 've always hankered to go onto 
the Rock, you said, when we was comin' over." 

The Rock was a little bare islet, with one dwarf 
cedar on it, stunted and spread by driving rain and 
furious winds into the rough shape of an umbrella, 
and commonly reputed to be a wonderful place for 
pretty pebbles. Mary Ann cared less for the peb 
bles than for getting out of a tete-a-tete with Jake, 
so she jumped at the proposition. Now the Rock 
was quite out of sight of Point Peter, and full 
a mile away. Jake drew his prow close to the 
abrupt edge of the islet, where one upward step 
safely landed his passenger, drove the boat a sin 
gle stroke's length off, and then, deliberately draw 
ing in his oars, spoke as follows : 

" Now, Mary Ann, I 've bobbed at the end of 
your string as long as is reasonable ; I can't do it 
no more. There you be, and here I be ; and here 
both of us '11 stay till you 've finally made up your 
mind." 

Mary Ann was dumb. She was stunned for a 
moment ; then she was angry. 

" How dare you, Jake Hazard ! " 

" Well, you see, I 've got to a pitch where I darst 
do a'most anything." 

Mary Ann looked at his set mouth, his steady, 



MARY ANN'S MIND. 55 

resolute eyes, his air of stern self-possession, and 
felt that he spoke the simple truth. But it was 
not in her to give up. She saw, or rather felt, 
very plainly that she did not want to lose him ; 
that she liked him very, very much : but not the 
less did she feel rebellious and outraged by this ex 
traordinary proceeding. 

" It 's fair to tell you one thing, Mary Ann," he 
began again. " If you fin'lly make up your mind 
ag'inst me, I shall never fault you for 't. I shall 
clear out o' these parts for the future, i could n't 
stay here." An unconscious tremor and sadness 
thrilled in these last words ; and Mary Ann felt it. 
She saw, in a flash of imagination, what Sandy 
Creek would be without Jake. Indeed, all her 
own life ! But even this did not move her out 
wardly ; she sat quite still on the stone ; she forgot 
all about the pebbles ; she only thought of Jake's 
demand, and resolved never to yield to it, if she 
stayed there a week. And she might have sat 
there long enough to discomfit her jailer and her 
self both, had not a certain sound approached her 
ears, for the wind had suddenly veered round to 
the east, a dip of slowly pulling oars. And in 
a deep, nasal voice, which she recognized as Hosy 
Long's, the following 'longshore ditty, coming 
nearer and nearer, from the direction of Point 
Peter, resounded distinctly : 

" Uncle Keziah and his son Sara 

They went to sea in the shell of a clam, 
A-o-utside o' the P'int! 



56 MARY ANN'S MIND. 

" They put up the helium an' put her abaout, 
The sea it went in an' Sam he went aout , 
A-outside o' the P'int ! 

" Uncle Keziah lie cussed an' he swore 
He 'd ne'er go to sea in a shell any more, 
A-o-utside o' the P'int ! " 

Women are " cur'tis creturs," as Hosy was wont 
to remark : whether it was the terror of approach 
ing observers, or the ludicrous drawl of Hosy's 
song, or the weary waiting and heat, or some fierce 
and subtler influence she knew not how to name, 
suddenly Mary Ann's heart gave way without her 
will or wish, she broke down utterly, and with an 
unconcealed sob of agitation stretched out both 
hands to Jake. 

" Come ! " she said, and when Jake took her in 
his strong arms and lifted her into the boat like 
a big baby, he knew from the soft, shy look in her 
beautiful eyes and the lingering of her arm upon 
his shoulder that Mary Ann had made up her 
mind at last, and that he need n't go away for 
ever. Before either of them could speak, Hosy ap 
peared round the corner. 

" Wa'al," shouted he, *' this is kinder upsettin' ; 
why could n't ye wait for a feller ? " 

" We did wait a minute," laughed Jake. " We 
was comin' back for ye. Mary Ann wanted to land 
on the Rock to look for somethin' she lost t' other 
day." 

" Did she find it ? " asked the interested Hosy. 

" No, I did," dryly replied Jake, and Mary 



MARY ANN'S MIND. 57 

Ann looked over the gunwale into the water. She 
lias always professed to Jake that she never did 
or would forgive him ; but Jake only laughs, know 
ing very well that there is no happier or sweeter 
wife and mother on all the shore than Mary Ann 
Hazard, and that in her secret heart she is very 
^lad he made her know her own mind, however he 
lid it! 



LOVE. 

DEACON GOODWIN and I were sorting apples at 
the door of the back shed, one lovely October af 
ternoon. Baldwins, russets, greenings, Swaars, pip 
pins, lay heaped on the little bit of turf, in gay 
-masses of red, gold, and brown ; the clumsy cart 
body, tilted on end, poured out a stream of ruddy 
fruit, that should have fallen from nothing less 
picturesque than the horn of Ceres ; and far away, 
over the fennel and cabbages in the garden, over 
the green sward of the orchard, the wooded hill 
sides stretched their bright length on and on, till 
they were purple in the distance, though, nearer 
at hand, scarlet and orange maples, imperial crim 
son oaks, deep yellow birches, and purple dog 
wood boughs, mixed with dark spires of hem 
lock and pine, shone jewel-like, even through the 
smoky air of that hot autumn day. Sorting apples 
is ot bad work, if only you have somebody to 
talk to ; at least, that was my experience though 
I was but a temporary farmer, and, it may be, 
more fond of a " crack " than I should have been 
had I always earned my bread under the fullest 
force of the curne. Deacon Goodwin was a silent 
man, except at conference meeting, where he ha 
rangued away with a power and glory that used up 



LOVE. 59 

all his words for a week to come ; moreover, his 
soul just now was vexed within him by " them 
boys," who had tilted all the apples into one heap, 
and how he was to discern, always and surely, 
between Baldwins and Spitzenbergs, Roxbury rus 
sets and russet sweets, puzzled his eyes and 
thoughts to the last degree ; so that I, who had the 
easier task of putting the fair apples, from one 
heap at a time, into one of a row of clean barrels, 
that stood, like the oil-jars in the Forty Thieves, 
ranged against a wall, and throwing the rejected 
fruit into a huge basket, I, who had time to talk, 
could not even extract a gruff " Yes " or " No " 
from the deacon. I was glad enough to hear Aunt 
Fluldah's ponderous step coming through the shed, 
ind her hearty voice behind me : 

" Father, I want them apples you ain't a-goin' 
;o use, so 's I can make sass to-day. 'T ain't a-goin' 
;o do to put it off any longer, and Kate can't be 
jestered with it in the middle of her ironin', so I 
ruess I '11 have the apples, and buckle to at it my- 
;elf. Where be they ? " 

" Well," replied the deacon, " Thomas has got 
em in the corn-basket, and I don't see jest how 
te 's goin' to let you hev the basket to pare out on 
n there, when he 's a-usin' of it out here ! " 

" That 's easy fixed," said aunty, never at a loss. 
Thomas, you jest bring my old rocker out of the 
jtchen, and fetch along the pigs' pail, so I can 
ive 'em their share, and I '11 set right down here 
nd do all my chores to once, while you're doin' 
ours." 



60 LOVK 

That 's right, exactly, aunty ! " said I, flinging 
a greening right into the barrel of Peck's Pleas- 
ants, in my relief at the prospect of some society. 
I firmly believe it is not good for man to b 
in more senses than one! 

"Well I'daslievesyou should, Mis Good in, 
chimed in her old man." " That feller 's a mas- 
terhand to talk, and he's figgered away a good 
spell at it, all alone, till I guess he 's about tuckered 
out for I can't talk none; them pesky boys have 
mixed these apples till there ain't no two alike 

the hull heap ! " 

"Why, husband! do tell!" laughed aunty; 
and I went off for the chair and the pail, according 
to orders. ArTd while I go, let me take the oppor 
tunity to praise Aunt Huldah Goodwin, for she is 
one of a thousand -if, indeed, there be a thou 
sand of her class left in these days of hyper-civih- 
zation, education, agitation, and the angels know 
what not of progress and the like stuff. Such a 
real, genial, healthy, hearty woman ; such a simple 
tender, expansive heart; such sturdy sense; such 
practical judgment, - all with a vein of most un- 
suspected poetry running through it, that tempered 
her shrewd insight into men with the loveliest sun- 
shine of charity, and kept her eyes as open to 
beauty of every nature as her heart was to kindh 
ness in all its forms. Not of her lifeful and 
mirthful kind come the array of moody and 
ancholy farmers' wives who, year by year, swel 
the lists of insanity ; no monotony of work pr( 



LOVE. 61 

upon her steady brain till the fine fibres gave way; 
she would have her laugh, as well as her labor, and 
the health that rounded her ample figure and 
tinged her somewhat wrinkled cheek with wintry 
red helped both labor and laughter to endure the 
long strain of life. She was " Aunt Huldy " to 
the whole village, and I loved her as well as if she 
had a better right to the title, and I a better know 
ledge of her goodness than the brief experience of 
a summer's rustication under her roof afforded. 
However, here are the rocker and the pigs' pail. 

' Set it right down there, Thomas, alongside of 
the steps, so's I can put my feet up and hold the 
oan even, and put the pail side of me^ now, that 's 
landy." 

Hardly was Aunt Huldah settled in her chair 
ind at work, before she called to her husband in 
i half whisper : Deacon ! Deacon Good'in I ain't 
hat Mr. Masters coming down the lane ? I de- 
lare if 't ain't ! " added she, in a londer tone ; and, 
ushmg away pail and pan, she went forward to 
ieet a tall, pale man, who came creeping alono- 
ast the pickets by the aid of a cane, till suddenly 

rrested by that cheery voice, 

" I want to know, Mr. Masters, if you Ve got out 
> far ? Come in, and set down." 
'No, thank you, Mrs. Goodwin," said a some- 
at querulous tone. I must go to Miss Pea- 
)dy s, to see about the singers for Thanksgiving 
Harriet's waiting there for me, I expect; 10 
must crawl along." 



62 LOVE. 

" Well, I wish you would stop," said Aunt Hul- 
dah. 

"I wish I could, but I can't. Good-day," an 
swered Mr. Masters ; and as he turned away I 
could see he was blind. Aunt Huldah came back 
to her seat with a great sigh. 

" Poor cretur, how he does miss Love ! " said she. 
I looked up at her rather inquiringly. 

" Why, we all do that, don't we, aunty ? " 

" I declare if you did n't think I meant love 
with a little / / Law, child, I was thinkin' about 
his wife, she that was Love Braiiierd ; though it 
ain't much odds, for if ever anybody was called 
pretty correct accordin' to their natur', she was ; 
there was about as much love to her as there was 
in her name. She beat all that ever I see for 
livin' other people's lives, and doin' their work, 
and bearin' their pains. I don't know as she 
know'd herself whether she was most Achsah 
Root, or Jim Whitman, or 'Lonzo Masters, or 
Love Brainerd. I guess she was least of the 
last." 

" Did she live here always ? Did you know her 
long ? " said I, eager to betray Aunt Huldah into 
telling a story, and privately rejoicing over the 
success of my scheme, as I saw her settle down 
more comfortably into her chair, and draw up the 
pan of apples further into her lap. 

" Yes, she was born here ; she 'n' her mother, 
the widder Brainerd, lived a piece up the Port 
land road quite a long spell when Love was small 



LOVE. 63 

I expect it was real lonesome over there nights 
though the woods is pretty lively in daytime,' 
what with one wild cretur or 'nother ; and there 
Tumbling Brook come into the valley close 
by their house, and Rattlesnake Mountain riz up 
n^t behind 'em. But it was a good ways off 
from folks and meetin', and Miss Brainerd wasn't 
a very high-eouraged woman. I guess she had 
iome scary times there, though she lived there be 
cause she owned the farm, and it was a good strip 
f medder land after you got down the hillside 
where their house was, and the brook kept it wet 
m the driest of times. 

"So Love grew up there. She didn't have no 
children to be mates for her ; she kept tight to her 

A I -Tr Strlng ' and if she P%ed in the 
woods Mis' Brainerd went along, 'cause the child 
was afraid Fact is, I guess they both got pretty 
trembly while old Brainerd lived, for he did have 
the tremens like anything before he died, and acted 
more hke ury. Well, Love she used to get a 
ttle schoolm', and more play; f or she was n't a 
very stubbed child : her cheeks was white, and her 
ide forehead was most too unnatural lookin' ; but 
e did have a pair of clever eyes, that 's a fact 
I used to tell her she 'd catched 'em of the squirrels', 
they was so kinder shy and soft ; she did n't smile 
very often, to be sure, but when she did it was 
real sunshiny; and , take her all in all, she was 
a pretty, personable child, only she was too scary 
They hved up there till Love was twelve year old 



64 LOVE. 

and then Mis' Brainerd she sold the farm and 
moved into the village jest as 't was growin' up 
here ; for you see there was n't any village here in 
old times, only two or three houses, this one 
where my grandfather used to live, and one at 
each end of Sykes's bridge, and they called it 
South Taunton, 'cause it belonged to the town of 
Taunton. But nigh about thirty year ago, Squire 
Smith bought out Sykes's mill privilege and set up 
a cotton factory, and built houses for his hands, 
and a brick house for his own, and he wanted to 
call it Smithville ; but Mis' Smith she stuck out 
for an Injin name : she wanted it called Pontoo- 
suc, after the river ; so they battled it a spell, and 
it was n't like to be any better than 't was be 
fore, when home comes Malviny Smith from York. 
She always ruled to home, and she would have it 
called Cranberry, so Cranberry 't was. So, as I 
was tellin', Mis' Brainerd moved up here, to take 
boarders, and be more sociable like, and send Love 
to the 'cademy. My ! what apples these be ! jest 
as pithy as punkins, and tasted like pigweed. 
Father, what do you call these apples ? " 

" Them ! " said the deacon, in no way surprised 
at the interlude, and meditatively regarding the 
fruit in question. " Well, them 's Good'in apples." 

" I declare ! it 's the poorest thing of the name 
that ever I see," laughed Aunt Huldah. 

"Well, aunty, about Love?" said I, half 
impatient and half afraid of losing the story. 

" Oh, yes ! I guess you 're a masterhand for 



LOVE. 65 

stories, ain't you ? What was I a-tellin' on ? Oh, 
I rec'lect. So Mis' Brainerd she took a house 
back of Squire Smith's, and Love she went to the 
'cademy. There she worked like a beaver; but 
somehow, from havin' lived always alone, and be 
ing naturally fearful and shy, she could n't seem to 
fellowship with any of her mates ; she'd only just 
study and sing ; for she did sing the most like a 
brown thrasher of anything I know that ain't a 
bird. However, after she 'd been two years there, 
and was goin' on fifteen, Achsah Root come from 
Taunton, to board at Mis' Brainerd's and go to 
school ; for Shubael Sykes, that taught the 'cad 
emy, had a great name for learnin', and Achsah's 
people were well to do, and they meant she should 
have the best of learnin'. Well, she was real 
handsome ; her eyes, and her hair, and her teeth, 
was as bright as a new pin, and she had a neat lit 
tle nose, and color like my pink hollyhock ; but 
she was n't a real pretty girl for all that. She was 
as proud as a kingbird, and, though she was real 
smart when she had a mind to be, it was as plain 
as a pikestaff that she thought first about Achsah 
Root, and after that, other folks could take their 
chance. Besides, she was pretty mighty, and I 've 
always noticed that when folks set up their Eben- 
ezer as if 't was n't never goin' to come down for 
anybody, it don't very often get so much as joggled. 
The children of this world are wise in their gen 
eration, the Scripter says, and I guess she was one 
of 'em ; so it come about that Love, who had n't 



66 LOVK 

ever had anybody very near to her but her mother, 
now come right under Achsah's thumb, and xvhy r 
was, nobody could tell, for never was two people 

different. 

But such things come, like ram, on the just 
and the unjust, and the Lord orders it. Love fol 
lowed Achsah, for all the world like a spaniel dog ; 
she seemed as if she would breathe for her; she 
was n't never tired if Achsah liked to walk ; she 
always had time to do little jobs of sewing for her 
when she got tired or lazy ; she walked her feet 
nioh about off, to get her flowers, or books, or any 
thing she wanted ; and if Achsah was sick there 
wasn't no end to the things Love would do for 
her ; she 'd set up nights and wait on her days. 
I 've known her bend over the bed-head to brush 
Achsah's hair, till her own lips was as white as a 
sheet with pain, for she wasn't very sturdy, and 
it 's hard work to stand bent over that way ; and 
I 've known her cold nights to be on her knees by 
the hour, rubbin' Achsah's feet 'cause she was so 
dreadful nervous she could n't get sleep. Well 
you might think Love would ha' got paid in her 
own coin, for it don't seem reasonable to b'lieve 
that one cretur could do so much for another and 
not get some on 't back again ; but it ain't so or 
dered in this world. Folks is obliged to love with 
out help, pretty much as the angels do, and they 
that gets the most gives the least. It ain't that the 
Scripter means when it says, 'Give, and it shall 
be given unto you.' I don't doubt but what Ach- 



LOVE. 67 

sah liked Love pretty well, but it was n't in her to 
love anybody such a sight better 'n herself. She 
liked to be waited on and cosseted, and jest so 
long as Love was workiu' over her, and doin' for 
her, Achsah paid her off with pretty looks and 
words, so 't the color would flush up into Love's 
pale face, and her eyes would shine, and her soft 
little lips would tremble and pucker, and then 
Achsah 'd laugh, and tell her she was ' a dear little 
goose,' but she never spared her none, for all that. 
Lovin' some folks is jest like pickin' chestnuts out 
of the burr, you keep a-prickin' your fingers all 
the time, and the more you try and keep on, the 
more it pricks : some will stick to it till they get 

the chestnut, and then ten to one it 's wormy, 

them that sticks to the burr is apt to be. 

" However, loving Achsah so seemed to kind of 
unlock Love's feelin's for other people ; 't was jest 
like openin' the race to a milldam ; it seemed as 
if she couldn't help lovin' everybody, 'specially 
sick people and children. I've seen her settin' 
on her mother's steps with half a dozen children 
all over her, lettin' down her hair, kissin' her eyes, 
and cheeks, and mouth, ticklin' her throat, and all 
in such a gale, and all bawlin' after her when she 
had to go away. Then, when anybody took sick 
in the village, Love was always on hand, readin' 
to 'em, or sendin' flowers, or makin' porridge ; and 
all with such pretty kindly ways, it did folks more 
good to hear her speak than it did to have Mis' 
Smith or Malviny send wine-jelly or soup ; there 's 



68 LOVE. 

so much in ways. And I don't know but what 
that verse of Seripter I was speakin' of along- back 
did come to pass, after all, in a certain kinc 1 of a 
way ; for everybody did love Love, only jest them 
she cared the most for. However, that 's gettin' 
ahead of the story. 

" Why, Thomas ! there 's a real fair apple ; a 
Swaar, too ! I guess you 're gettin' too much 
talk. I 'd better stop a spell ; it 's considerable of 
a chore to work and hear an old woman chatter 
too." 

" Oh, don't stop, Aunt Huldab, don't ! I shall be 
as careful but I do want the story. I wish I 
had ever seen Love Brainerd." 

" Well, if you want to see her, there 's a 
d'guer'type of her down to Harri't Case's, where 
she boarded, but it don't favor her much ; it 's 
like most all of them pictur's, dreadful black 
lookin'. To be sure, it 's her eyes, and her nose, 
and her mouth, and her handkerchief pin, and a 
square collar I give her myself when she was mar 
ried, but for all that, 't ain't Love ; it has n't got 
her real, livin', sweet look. I suppose it's like 
her, for they say the sun don't lie ; but I should n't 
never know it. So about two years after Achsah 
Root come to Cranberry, her father died, and they 
found he 'd give the farm, out an' out, to her step 
mother, and left Achsah only a thousand dollars 
in the bank and a home forever and always in the 
old house ; but that 's a queer way to leave a 
home to anybody, for how are you goin' to tell 



LOVE. 69 

what it means ? If Love had it left to her to give 
anybody, it would have meant house, and board, 
md fire, and lights, and waitin' on jest like a real 
borne ; but Mis' Boot made it out different. She 
alkerlated it meant only Achsah's bed room, and 
vas goin' to charge for board and all that ; so 
\chsah knew she meant to have her pull up stakes 
ind go, for nobody could pay that out of the in- 
erest money from a thousand dollars. We was all 
orry for the child, but she did n't pine none, 
he was too proud. Mis' Brainerd got her a place 
o the factory, and she come to Cranberry for 
ood, boardin' where she always had ; so Love 
as pretty nigh set up. Well, things went on 
mch as they used to for a while, only the next 
'inter Love exper'enced religion and joined the 
hurch. It did n't appear as if it made so much 
hange in her as 't would in most folks ; but I ex- 
ect it was more like a growth to the best part of 
er natur', and a leavin' off whatever there was in 
contrary to grace, for it can't be denied she 
id naturally a high sperit ; but now she grew 
ore and more meek, and did n't never fret when 
work was the hardest, but she appeared more 
id more sot upon Achsah, and oneasy enough 
mut her speritual state, for she hadn't got no 
ore religion than a poppy-head, as she showed 
ain enough by and by. 

"Long about the springtime, there come a youno- 
an from Colebrook, James Whitman by name, 
second cousin of my husband's sister-in-law, to 



70 LOVE. 

set up for an overseer in the factory. He boarded 
at our house, and appeared to be a likely feller 
enough, good-lookin' and smart, and with real in- 
sinuatin' ways, but he was n't very reliable. Well, 
Achsah was gone back to Taunton for a spell ; her 
own aunt was weakly, and she 'd sent for her to 
come and stay there with her for company, while 
her husband was gone out West. So one night I 
was goin' to Mis' Brainerd's of an errand, and the 
deacon he had the rheumatiz so bad that James 
stepped along with me it was so dark, and jest as 
he got to the door, we heerd Love singin'. I de 
clare it did beat all ! I could n't think of nothin' 
but a brown thrasher on top of a white birch, just 
singin' because it could n't help it, and thinkin' of 
nothin' only feelin' the sun, and the piny smells, 
and the sweet summer wind. James was clean bate. 
' Aunt Huldah,' says he, as spry as anything, ' I '11 
go in and wait for you ; I 'd jest as lieves.' ' Well,' 
sez I. I knew too much to say anything more. 
So we come in, and I made him acquainted with 
all the folks there was in the keepin'-room, and 
there was several boarders, but he sot right down 
'longside of Love, and chippered away real brisk. 
'Twas me that had to wait for him, I tell you! 
but finally I got up and went, and he had to. Af 
ter that he found his way alone to Mis' Brainerd's 
pretty often ; and though it did n't all turn out as 
it oughter, accordin' as we thought it oughter, at 
least, I do think he was about as fond of Love 
in them days as ever a young feller was of a girl, 



LOVE. 71 

without stoppin' to think whether he was in pious 
earnest to marry her or not. The worst of it all 
was, that Love was as believin' as she was lovin', 

-she hadn't no kind of guile about her no 
more 'n a baby ; she thought folks meant aU they 
said and all they did, for she was too true and 
faithful herself ever to mistrust other folks; and 
she had n't lived long enpgh to find out the Scrip- 
ter fact, that all men are liars. 

" It was n't strange, neither, when you come to 
think of it, that she should like Jim Whitman. 
He was a real likely young man to look at, and he 
was jest as good as pie to Love ; he took her to 
walk off in the woods ; he got her posies, and win- 
tergreens, and red leaves, and all sorts o' fancies ; 
he lent her books, and taught her new hymn-tunes ; 
and, last of all, he got round her the cutest way a 
man can get round a woman matyi' of her talk 
religion to him, for he wasn't a professor; and he 
nade Love think she was doin' him lots of good, 
*hile all the time she, poor, dear, simple little soul] 
vas takin' him deeper and deeper into her feelin's 
md her prayers, till, before she know'd it, she 'd 
^ot to love him better even than Achsah. 

' Now, folks say it ain't accordin' to natur' for a 
roman to do so, that it 's unfeminine and all that. 

want to know if it 's any worse in a girl to love a 
lan that gives her every chance to love him, ex- 
ept askin' her in words, than 't is for her to begin 
traight off the minute he says ' snip,' when she 
as n't had no thoughts of him before ? I tell you 



72 LOVE. 

I 'd give jest as imich for such love as I would for 
a corn-sheller that '11 go when you turn the crank, 
and not before. Love Brainerd was n't no ma 
chine ; and, if folks would only own it, there ain't 
no woman worth havin' that ain't like her about 
them things. It 's womenfolks that keep that 
talk up, 'cause they don't want to own the truth to 
men ; it 's enough to marry 'em without havin' 
'em jaw at you all the time for likin' 'em before 
you was asked. Well, folks said all over Cran 
berry that James and Love was keepin' company ; 
but when they taxed her with it, she turned as red 
as a beet, and said 't was n't no such thing, he 
was a good friend of her'n, and she wished they 
would n't say no more about it. So, when they 
see it pestered her, they let it be, and b'lieved it all 
the more. 

" In about ^ix months, Achsah came back to 
Cranberry, and went to Mis' Brainerd's again ; 
and of course Love was dreadful glad to see her, 
the more that she had n't never kept one of her 
thoughts from Achsah ; and though she 'd writ as 
frequent as she could afford to, yet it wasn't like a 
real talk. So Achsah had heerd enough about 
Jim Whitman to know what he was, before he 
come round as usual to spend the evenin'. At 
first he did n't appear to take to Achsah so much 
as I was afeard he would, for I knew how much 
more menfolks think of looks than they do of ac 
tions ; but somehow, though Love could n't hold 
a candle to Achsah for beauty, she was really 



LOVE. 73 

pleasanter to look at lately, for she'd got a little 
mite of red in her cheeks, and her eyes were as 
soft and bright as them two little ponds be under 
the Kidge, and her face looked so restful and 
happy, all the time with a smile comin' and goin', 
jest as if the clouds blowed over it the way they 
do on our medder lot of a June day. But Jim 
was polite to Achsah, and she was pretty mighty 
to him at first ; she was n't never very simple in 
her ways ; she 'd fly round like a woodcock when 
you 're close onto its nest, so 's to make folks come 
after her, and what with her good looks, and her 
wheedlin' ways, and her keepin' off at first, and 
then lettin' him get a chink, to see into her feelin's 
as 'twere, she got an even chance with Love in 
Whitman's idees before three months was gone 
y- 

' Well ! I see 't was as good as over with Love, 
mt I held my tongue, and Love she didn't see no- 
hing. She heerd Achsah laugh at him behind his 
>ack and before his face, and she tried her best to 
aake him like Achsah, because she loved 'em both ; * 
>ut he would n't give in ; he 'd tell her, jest as he 
old me, when I had a spell of talk with him, that 
Ichsah did n't suit him, she was too proud and 
Ifish for a woman he liked her looks and her 
martness, but he did n't love her near so well as 
e did Love, and nobody else did. 

" I don't know what did ail Achsah ; she was 
ound to turn his head, I b'lieve. She acted like a 
>ent, first on and then off, till he was fairly off 



74 LOVE. 

the hooks, and finally acted as if he did n't know 
what he did do when she come near him. After a 
while, Love began to think some thoughts about 
it ; but she was so good, she took herself to task 
for thinkin' such things, when they 'd both said so 
much to the contrary so many times, so she stuck 
to her text, and spared no pains to set off Achsah 
to Jim, and him to her, as if some kind of posses 
sion was in her to make her own bed in a thorn- 
bush. At last, natur' was too strong for her, she 
could n't help but see what was goin' on, and she 
grow'd thin as a shadder, and pale as a white-ash 
stick. Everybody said she was in a decline, and 
she looked it, for certain, but still she kept about, 
her dear, sweet eyes lookin' as if the tears stood 
in them all the time, till they got past that, and 
looked as though they was dreened of all the life, 
and her lips sot in such a wishful, quiet, helpless 
kind of a way, I used to get my eyes full a-lookin' 
at her 'crost the meetin'-house, for I was married 
to a good husband by that time, and was as happy 
'as the day is long, and I had great feelin' for folks 
that was n't. 

" Well, before long, Achsah Root comes to me, 
and says she : 

" ' Mis' Goodin', I 'd like to have a little talk 
with you ! ' 

" ' Very well,' says I, ' it 's a good time, Achsah, 
set right down ; my chores is all done up, and 
husband he 's off in the wood-lot.' 

" So, after a little spell, she sets to and asks me 



LOVE. 75 

if I know'd anything about Jim Whitman's folks, 
and whether he was altogether reliable or not. 
Well, I hadn't nothin' to say against him, but 
I was ehokin' to speak my mind to Achsah. 

"So,' says I, 'he is going to marry Love 
Brainerd. I think it 's time ; they 've kept com- 
pany so long, and Love is so bound up in him.' 

" She did turn real red. ' Oh, no, Mis' Good'in ! ' 
says she, 'you mistake ; the truth is, James Whit 
man offered to me last night, and, as I have n't 
any of my own people here, I came to you for a 
little advice.' 

'"Did you tell Love?' says I, as soon 's I 
could speak steady. 

'No, I haven't. I thought it was best not 
to say much about it till it was settled.' 

' For once in my life, I did let my sperit take 
the bit between its teeth and set off. I was as 
mad as a hornet, and I had to sting. I riz right 
up from where I set, and flung my knittin' onto 
the stand. ' Achsah Root ! ' says I, ' you 've done 
a God-forsaken thing, and I don't see how you 
have got the face to tell on 't. There's Love 
Brainerd 's spent herself on you like a little dog, 
and you 've stepped in and wheedled her out of 
the only thing she could begrudge you, and broke 
her heart. I don't say but what Jim Whitman 's 
reliable enough for you, a man that don't know 
his own mind is plenty good enough for you to 
manage, and I wish you may get him I Poor, 
clear Love ! ' So, with that, I fetched a long breath, 



76 LOVE. 

for I was like to cry, and though Achsah looked 
poker and tongs at me, she spoke kind o' humble 
when I 'd done, for I 'd told her bare truth for 
once, and folks that ain't used to it feel sort of 
stunned when it does perk up in their faces. 

" ' Well ! ' says she, ' I can't help Love's liking 
him, Mis' Good'in ; if he likes me the best, and I 
like him, I don't see as I 've done any wrong. I 
don't want to make him unhappy.' 

"* ' My soul ! ' thinks I, ' I wonder if the cretur is 
a woman or an iceberg ! ' So I spoke out loud : 

"'I ? ve said my say, Achsah, and, if you can 
get round your own feelin's about right and wrong 
that way, you can't get round mine. If 't was 
worth battlin' it out with you, I 'd ask you how 
things looked six months ago, betwixt him and 
her; but I know you've fenced off your lot, so I 
won't set no more thistles in it than there is now. 
I hope the Lord '11 forgive you, but I can't feel to 
yet.' 

" So, with that, she says ' Good-night ! ' and the 
next day I heerd she was gone to Taunton, and 
in about six weeks Mis' Brainerd brought me over 
a piece of the weddin' cake, for she had n't sus 
pected nothin' ; she thought Love would n't never 
have him, 'cause he was n't a professor, and Love 
never laid her troubles on her mother's shoulders. 
I could n't taste that cake, though. I giv' it to 
Rover, jest as soon as her back was turned. 

" The next Sunday I see Love was to church, 
Jookin' as if death was writ on her face ; her lips 



LOVE. 77 

was set, and her eyes shiny, and she walked home 
M-/ith one of the boarders, talkin' and laughin' too 
for the Sabbath. I couldn't feel to speak 
her, because my voice was shaky. 
" I heerd she said she was well, but I got her 
over- to my house one afternoon about a week after 
Achsjn,h had come back and settled down t' other 
side ot^ the mills, in Whitman's house he 'd just 
built. ( 

"I sent for Love to come and get some yeller 
gourd-seq>d, and when she come into the keepin'- 
roorn and I got hold of her, I knew by the feel of 
her hot aod dry hand that she was in a slow fever, 
and I made her own up she was so the biggest part 
of the tim-e. Well, I see that she was near about 
heartsick, > so I sot down by her, and draw'd her 
head down onto my shoulder and kissed her. I ex 
pect she kijew what I meant, for in less 'n a minute 
she begun to cry, great, hot, slow tears, and then 
a real thunder-shower, and I let her. I knew 
't would coiol her, and she told me afterward them 
was the fir;t tears she had cried. After a spell she 
stopped, a nd lifted up her head as weak as a baby, 
so I laid her down on the sofa, and got my knittin', 
and set de,\vn by her, and did n't say nothin', but I 
hummed ;an old hymn-tune, till I see the steady look 
3omin' b:-ick to her eyes ; then sez I : ' Love, you 
set a grer a t deal by children, don't you?' 

" ' Yes*, I do, Mis' Good'in,' says she ; ' they 're 
ibout allj there is worth lovin', I think.' 

' W?ell,' sez I again, ' Miss Loomis is goin' to 



78 LOVE. 

leave the little school ; don't you think you 'd feel 
better to take it ? It ain't hard work, and there 's 
singin' to do, and the children all love you ; 1 gue^s 
you could have it over anybody else's head.' 

" I see a little gleam a-shinin' over her face. 

" ' You 're very good to think of it,' sez she /sor 
rowfully, ' but I don't think the school committee 
would trust me.' I 

" ' Yes, they will, though, Love, for I hef ^rd Mr. 
Sykes recommendin' of you to-day. I s*poke to 
him yesterday, though I said I didn't 2 know as 
you 'd be willinV 

" So she riz up, and put her arms roun$ my neck 
and kissed me, and we was good friends ifrom that 
time forrard, always. 

" Miss Loomis was n't to leave for a m'onth or so, 
and I kep' Love with me all I could. I saw she 
was gettin' into a poor way ; she did fn't believe 
what anybody said ; she mistrusted everybody's 
actions, and was as jealous of folks' words and 
looks as if the whole world was set to w ork to hate 
and deceive her. Poor child ! it went /to my soul 
to think how she 'd eat the tree of knowledge, and 
puckered her mouth all up, and I did fe<sl hard on 
them that giv' it to her, after all her loviV ways to 
them ! However, I knew 't was n't no us-e to row 
ag'inst the tide, so I said nothin', but I used to 
get her to drive me off when the deacor'n was too 
busy, over to Scranton, and Poleville, aind round 
the woods, to all the sightly places there) is round 
here ; our old horse was real steady, and tl 'd take 



LOVE. 79 

the baby, and after a little I would give her the 
child to hold, say in' my arms was tired, and I 'd 
drive, i I knew it was better than medicine to her 
when I see them little pink fingers curled round 
her'n, and the small face smilin' up into her eyes 
till she could n't help to smile back again. Some 
times I 'd lay it in an oneasy way, so she 'd have 
to lift, and coax, and kiss it, and I knew when 
*he 'd g;ot it hugged up to her, and had cooed it 
aalf asleep, so 's she could n't stir without wakin' 
t, that she would be content if we was drivin' all 
lay. 

" So, by help of grace, and her own lovin' heart, 
ind time, and steady work, before she 'd kept a 
Barter's school, I see she was gettin' some of the 
ines rubbed off her lonesome-lookin' forehead ; 
ind after ai year had gone by she 'd got to be more 
ike Love , Brainerd again than I 'd ever thought 
he would' be. However, I mistrusted that she 
ould n't never care for Achsah again, for I could 
I't, I am .sure but Love was better than I. I 
lon't know now how it first come about, but after 
while I heerd she was over there now and then, 
nd when Aehsah's first baby was took sick Love 
/atched it; and nursed it till it wrastled through ; 
nd things looked as if there had n't been no dif- 
erence between 'em ever. Somehow I was all 
mazed, and I wanted to know how it was. I knew 
'ell enough how Achsah come round : she was 
lear selfish ; she did n't care for nobody else, so 
mg as rill went pretty straight for her pleasure ; 



80 LOVE. 

but just so soon as she was in trouble shw could 
be as good and lovin' as you please, atid Jim 
Whitman was another of her sort ; but Love's side 
on 't puzzled me. So I says to her one day,' as she 
was settin' on my doorstep, with my little Biben in 
her arms : ' Love,' says I, 'do you care for 'Achsah 
Whitman at all now ? ' 

" ' Yes, I do, Mis' Goodwin,' says Love., lookin' 
up at me with eyes as clear as Eben's, and) as deep 
as a well. ' I love her dearly.' 

" ' As much as ever ? ' 

" ' Yes, but not as well. I don't respect her, 
but I love her. I can't help it.' 

" ' Well,' says I, clear beat, ' I think that is 
grace ! ' 

" ' No, it ain't,' says Love ; ' it is mjost all na 
ture. I suppose it did help me to forgive her to 
think how God forgave me, but I loved her before, 
always.' 

" Then there come a soft look into he/r eyes, and 
she kind of drooped 'em, and I see a bright little 
drop on her long eye-winkers, ' And II love her 
enough to be glad she is happy, anyway.* 

" Thinks I, ' Your mother gev you ' the right 
name,' but I said nothin'. 

" About this time Alonzo Masters, ', a young 
man who 'd taught singin' to Taunton, come over 
to Cranberry, to set up a school there. / He was 
a pitiful cretur ; for when he was but a! babe he 
took the smallpox, and lost his eyesight for good , 
and, besides, he always enjoyed poor health after 






LOVE. 81 

that ; and now his mother, who 'd always cared for 
him, had died, and he didn't want to stay to 
Taunton no more, but come to Mis' Brainerd's to 
board. There he tried to do for himself, but he 
made a poor hand at it, and Love, with her kindly, 
helpful ways, couldn't keep from waitin' on him no 
more 'n a brook can keep from runnin' down hill ; 
besides, she took lessons of him, and he 'd set and 
listen to her voice as if he was drinkin' it in, till 
he most forgot to teach her. 

" Things went on so for quite a spell ; and, as 
lookers-ofy see most of the game, I see pretty soon 
that he \^as hangin' on to Love for the breath of 
his life. \He was n't never easy away from her. 
He fretted', like a sick baby when she went off to 
school, and he kept waitin' for her by the door as 
steady as the hop-vine 'longside of him. One day I 
3ome alon<^ and stepped in to see Mis' Brainerd ; 
ind, findinjg him alone on the doorsill, I set down 
"or a bit <^>f talk, and just then Achsah Whitman 
jassed, ancjl nodded. She looked real well that 
lay ; and ^f ter she got by says I : 

" ' Well.( you 're real pretty, that 's a fact ! ' 

"'Who/?' says he. 

" ' Mis' Whitman, she that jest went past the 
loor.' 

" ' Not iany where as pretty as Love, though, Mis' 
Toodwin,^ says he, as peart as the primer, and kind 
>f triumpihant-like. 

" ' Wbfy, Mr. Masters ! ' says I, ' what makes you 
ay so 



82 LOVE. 

" ' Because I hear Love's voice, Mis' Goodwin, 
and I know she must be lovely, she speaks so.' 

" ' Well, I declare, you 're right,' says I ; but I 
did pity the poor cretur, for I never thought Love 
would trust or care for a man again. However, I 
don't make nor mar in love-scrapes, I 'd as soon 
try to help a bird build its nest ; so I left things 
to Providence, and they got took care of as they 
generally do. 

" About a month after that, Love come over to 
my house one night, and she got me out into the 
stoop, and put her head in my lap, and, says she 
softly, but very plain : 

" ' Mis' Goodwin, I 'm going to marry Mr. Mas 
ters.' 

" ' Why, Love Brainerd ! ' says I, ' you don't tell 
me ! My dear child, for mercy's sakes, do you 
know what you are a-doin'? Do you- love him 
as ' She broke right in : 

" ' I know, I know, but I never shallj. love any 
body that way again ; and I do feel $o sorry for 
him, h's sick, and blind, and lonely. I wonder 
who would ever take care of him, if I should leave 
him alone ? I feel as if God had sent liiin to me, 
and spoken about it.' 

" ' But, Love, it 's a dreadful thing to g'et such an 
idea into your head, if you don't love him. It ain't 
right. You can't get away if once you marry him, 
think of that ! ' 

" ' I don't want to get away, dear. ' Nobody 
cares for him but me, and I should mak$ him so 



LOVE. 83 

happy/. What am I good for but to spend and be 
spent for somebody? and who needs it more than 
he ? ' 

" W ell, I could n't say no more, I felt kind of 
solemn,. She was too near like the folks in the 
Revelations that was clothed in white garments, for 
me to trouble her thoughts with the wisdom of this 
world ; < so I stooped down and kissed her ; and, 
when she went away, I could n't feel to fret over 
it ; for jjf ever anybody was in the Lord's keepin', 
I knew s\he was. 

" Afte* a few months they was married, and it 
come abofat just as I didn't darst to hope it would. 
Love was{ the completest woman that ever I see, 
and, begiijmm' with pity, she was as tender of 
Lonzo as|f he'd been a little baby; and it ain't 
n any realj woman's heart, 'specially such a one as 
Love, to s^e anything hanging onto her for dear 
ife without learnin' to love it. Beside, she was 
onely enojigh before, she hadn't anybody to 
ove her mW 'n all the world put together, and 
he see Acftsah Whitman flourishin' like a green 
>ay-tree, k)'s she couldn't well help wonderin' 
rfiy one should be taken and t' other left, and that 
ross was (hard to bear, I expect, though she did n't 
tever say' nothin'. But now she acted for aU the 
rorld like my scarlet runner that Old Red trod 
crost one day when the boys left the gate open, 
nd crushed it down into the mud ; and there it lay, 
md of tuckered out, till one of the feelers got 
lowed against the pickets, and cotched hold, and 



84 LOVE. 

lifted itself up, ring by ring, till the whole tfence- 
post was red with its blows, and covered witja the 
green leaves. 

" Love loved him a sight better than ewer she 
did Jim Whitman. He was a better man . His 
'flictions had made him pious, and he wavs nigh 
about as good as a sick and fretted man fcan be, 
and he was n't never cross to Love nor peevjish ; he 
loved her a heap too much to hurt her, .-anyway. 
He thought she was most good enough to say his 
prayers to, and she was n't never willin' ?EO be out 
of his sight. So the Lord rewarded heyr in this 
world ; for, though most folks did n't th'mk 't was 
any reward, I knew it was the nearest to heaven 
to her to be loved so, and to love back again. 

" They lived there to Mis' Brainerd's twenty 
year, she bein' his eyes and life, and he bein' like 
her heart, till she took sick, last falj, of a low 
fever, and died. I was with her the last night, 
and he too. 

" I did wish he could 'a' seen those eyes. They 
looked after him as if the Lord had tdmched 'em, 
so 's they could speak when she couldn 't. She 
died a-lookin' at him so, with both her hands in 
his'n, and he sot there six hours after she was 
gone to glory, and I guess she went right off. 

" Tom, give me some more apples ! Where in 
creation is my silk handkerchief ? I declare ! I 
thought I hed done cryin' for Love Brainerd ! " 



ODD MISS TODD. 

HEL father was odd before her. Barzillai Todd 
was om of those men who crop out from the general 
ievel of other people like a bowlder from the soft 
^reen sirface of a meadow. 

He hal a good farm, but he lived on it as Sel- 
drk livef on his island. It was but half tilled ; 
le never ;ut the huckleberry bushes or ploughed 
hem up, f>r he ate little besides the hard yet juicy 
ruit while they lasted. 

Then no persuasion would induce him to sell the 
/oodland ^hich rose all about his lonely brown 
ouse. The trees were his congeners ; he knew 
lem individually. It was his delight to lie at 
i ngth uiide^ their aerial canopy, and see the golden 
ecks of \shine dance athwart their perfect grace 
id verdi , or to watch for bits of blue sky, sap- 
liire blue " like the body of heaven in its clear- 
3ss," revealed by the parting of a wind-swept 
)ugh. The light susurrus of stealing breezes 
ade the purest music to his ear, and he loved to 
itch the thousand quaint insects that inhabited 
oss and bark, to trace the busy life of anthills, to 
ick beetles on their laborious journeys, or to see 
w deftly the wren wove her mystic nest, and the 
rtridge made of her pale eggs an open secret. 



86 ODD MISS TODD. 

He was no farmer, as all Dorset knew. Hay 
just enough for his two lonely Ayrshire cow was 
all he cut, and root crops were unknown co his 
fields ; he raised acres of strawberries, and, being 
a vegetarian, used them all their season, (elling 
the vast surplus for money to buy books ; rorn- he 
grew in abundance, for meal was a necessity, and 
waving crops of rye ; a long range of beehives 
gave him honey, and he had a wild theory that 
honey was the cure-all, and that a man vho had 
honey at hand and ate fruit in its season wmld live 
to an indefinite period. 

Flowers did not come into his scheme f life, but 
flowers clustered about his brown hous^ neverthe 
less, for he married late in life a pretty girl, below 
him in social position, but so devoted, intelligent, 
and lovely that in his silent fashion hi worshiped 
her while she lived, and was constant to her mem 
ory when she died, leaving him only one solace, a 
girl of three, and one monument in profuse roses 
and honeysuckles at his door. Amor the other 
oddities of the man was his absorbing assion for 
books. He bought every volume he Cj.ild lay his 
hands on in days when books cost money. 

Especially did he adore Shakespeare, and above 
almost all his characters he admired the bvely lady 
of the " Winter's Tale," and therefore, in spite 
of his wife's gentle remonstrance, their poor child 
figured in the family annals as Hermione Todd, a 
"concatenation accordingly" which use and time 
resented, and few people in Dorset ever knew that 



ODD MISS TODD. 87 

' Miny " Todd had any other name than this dis 
syllable. 

After his wife's death Barzillai Todd lived a 
stranger life than ever. He hired an old deaf 
cousin to do his housework, instructing her himself 
in all the mysteries of rye mush, " whole-flour " 
bread, suppawn, samp, and other doubtful corn- 
bread dainties, which were only rendered eatable 
by lavish supplies of cream and fresh milk. For 
clothes little Miny depended on Hepsy's tasteless 
selection and clumsy fingers, and being a plain, 
dark, shy child, perhaps looked as well in the dull 
cotton fabrics and Shaker sun-scoops that were her 
uniform attire as in more dainty and warmer-hued 
garments. Education she had none, in the ordi 
nary sense of the word : she learned how to read 
m a desultory way, and made out a cramped hand 
writing for herself by the time she was twelve 
years old. But it was another of her father's 
theories that women ought not to be educated. 
Nature, however, as nature often does, defied his 
opinion. Though Miny never went to school or to 
church, and taught herself to read and write, she 
found her way to the miscellaneous library that 
lay heaped on chairs, bureaus, tables, even the 
floor, everywhere in the old house, except in the 
kitchen and one sunny corner room reserved by 
Hepsy for her sewing and rare company. There 
were, no doubt, good materials for a liberal edu 
cation, in these books, but, taken at haphazard, 
they were devoured on principles of natural selec- 



gg ODD MISS TODD. 

tion, and the dry treatises thrown aside as they 
came uppermost ; but the histories, travels, and, 
most eagerly of all, the biographies, were read 
over and over till Miny knew them by heart. 
There were no novels or poems, except Shakespeare, 
in the whole collection ; these Barzillai Todd held 
in the highest contempt, and it was to the absence 
of all imaginative fiction, except as it is found more 
or less in biography, that the girl owed her strong 
common sense and her sturdy persistence in view 
ing things and people through its medium. 

From her rambles at her father's heels and she 
followed him everywhere with the mute fidelity of 
a (J g s he learned to know and love all wild 
things, and inheriting from her dead mother a real 
passion for flowers, she soon made a garden for her 
self on the sunny slope before her windows that 
would have delighted a botanist ; for every flower 
that sprung of itself in wood or field she trans 
planted thither, and with the reciprocal affection 
flowers show to those who love them, they all lived 
and blossomed. 

In this way, like one of her own orchids, Miny 
Todd grew up to her womanhood. Lovers never 
came near her, and she had no friends. Dorset 
people did not offer civilities to her father, because 
he did not want or need them. Neither he nor 
Miny had ever been ill in their lives, and when his 
wife died of sudden congestion of the lungs, he 
had resented help and sympathy from every one, 
and shut himself in his lair as a beast of the forest 
might have done when sharply wounded. 



ODD MISS TODD. 89 

A man in New England who gives no honor to 
church or school is ostracized at once, and Bar- 
zillai Todd's position toward these bulwarks of the 
state set him quite outside the pale of Dorset soci 
ety. He did not care for this ; he was a lazy, self 
ish dreamer, without natural energy or acquired 
industry ; a few thousand dollars which his father 
left him for he came of a highly respectable and 
once wealthy New England family he had had 
the prudence to invest safely, and this income was 
enough, with the aid of his strawberry patch, to sup 
ply his needs. His luxuries nature purveyed for 
him, and life lapsed from him as the day died out 
of heaven, easily and unlameuted. He came in 
tired one day, lay down on the rough chintz-cov 
ered sofa, from which he pushed a pile of books, 
and fell asleep, never to waken. 

Miny was thirty years old when this happened, 
and her father eighty. It was time old Barzy 
Todd died, Dorset people thought, and a few 
kindly souls went out to the farm to help at his 
funeral, for Miny had not a relative in the world. 
Miny had inherited her mother's warm feeling, 
and her biographical studies had awakened in her 
mind a strong wish to know other people. Her 
father had but one love in his strange gray life, 
and when that died, with his wife, his capacity for 
loving died too ; but Miny had a broader nature, 
and when she found that the income which had 
supported her father was all her own, she rented 
the farm to an energetic young man, bought a lit- 



90 ODD MISS TODD. 

tie house in Dorset, and moving all her wild flow 
ers to the small green yard in front of her new 
home, and the white roses and fragrant honey 
suckle her mother had planted to either side of the 
door, she transplanted Hepsy also, with the best 
of the old furniture, and began at this late hour 
to make friends and to know the world, as it 
wagged in Dorset, at least. 

Of course the minister called on her at once, 
and great was the Reverend Mr. Fry's astonish 
ment to find a real and practical heathen in the 
very midst of his flock ; he hurried home to his 
study, and brought her immediately a Bible, which 
she received with gratitude, and set herself to read 
with the avidity that always possessed her at sight 
of a fresh book. 

It would be incredible to an average sinner, 
hardened, as one may use the phrase, by continuous 
preaching and teaching, to hear, could it be de 
scribed, what an effect this book had upon Miss 
Todd. The Word, indeed, fell into a good and 
honest heart, and was received with the simplicity 
and faith of a child. Mr. Fry, who continued his 
pastoral calls, was put to his wits' end to under 
stand the mental and moral position of this queer 
woman. 

She was converted, he could not doubt, but the 
process was so peculiar, so heterodox, that he could 
not perceive it to be a genuine conversion. She 
did not suffer from deep sense of sin, for she had 
not sinned as yet, for want of temptation. Her ex- 



ODD MISS TODD. 91 

perience of life was so strange that her experience 
of religion was equally unexampled ; but perceiving 
the one fact that Miny Todd earnestly desired to 
live according to the precepts of the Bible, and was 
ready to follow Christ as her leader and king, the 
deacons of Dorset church, never very rigid in their 
theology, this being an inland village far removed 
from the great centres of orthodoxy, consented to 
let Miss Todd slip easily through her examination, 
and join the church according to her desire. It 
was a long time, and the process would be tedious 
of detail, before Miss Miny understood the people 
about her or the life they led. She herself was 
busy always, trying to live up to her profession of 
religion ; but the rest had something else to do, 
and put off their spiritual experience till Sunday. 
There were children, haying, harvesting, and all 
that sort of thing for her neighbors to live through ; 
and all the more that she visited the sick, fed the 
hungry, and clothed the naked, they held them 
selves excused from such duty. Their gossip 
grated on her charity of soul, their little mean 
nesses seemed to her unworthy of beings who had 
an eternity at stake, and her heart raged at the 
cruelties of domestic life which she could not but 
see among those about her. 

If she had been less candid and simple-minded 
than she was, she would have turned bitter and 
scornful ; but she was always ready to learn, to 
wait, and to love, so that if knowledge saddened, it 
also strengthened her, and what she deplored she 



92 ODD MISS TODD. 

directly tried to improve. Add to this disposition 
great plainness of speech, such plainness as a 
real child may use and only provoke a smile, while 
custom and convention forbid it to grown peo 
ple, and it may be imagined that at thirty-five 
Miss Tocld, ready for all good works, was yet no 
favorite in Dorset ; and but for the fact that the 
Dorset and Albany Railroad had bought a hitherto 
unproductive part of the farm for track and sta 
tion, and paid a good price for it, and another cor 
ner had been sold to a speculator, who fancied he 
had discovered a mine therein (though he only 
found a pocket of hematite ore which barely re 
paid his outlay), all this making Miny a lady of 
" means," as Dorset people say, she would have 
been as unpopular as heart could desire. But 
money appeals to the hearts of all mankind, 

" Age cannot wither it, nor custom stale." 

When Dorset knew that Miss Todd owned 
thirty thousand dollars besides her fifty-acre farm, 
it tacitly agreed that she could do and say what 
she pleased. Probably she would have done so if 
poverty had been her lot in life, yet she would not 
have done it with impunity ; but her hand sweet 
ened her speech, for it was always full of timely 
gifts. 

Still, even her benevolence did not always offset 
her honesty. The Reverend Septimus Clark, a 
fine young clergyman from New York, who was 
traveling through Vermont, and, stopping at Dor- 



ODD MISS TODD. 93 

set one Sunday, preached for Mr. Fry, will never 
till his dying day forget his encounter with Miss 
Miny. He had preached what Mrs. Deacon Nor 
ton pronounced " a most be-a-utiful discourse," as 
full of flowers as a greenhouse, liberally sprinkled 
with poetry, gently " picked out " with sentiment, 
and here and there a little natural religion put in, 
like cloves into a baked ham, more for ornament 
than use. It was a sermon a pagan or a Brahmin 
would have admired just as much as Mrs. Deacon 
Norton, but it stirred the depths of Miss Miny's 
soul. Her great honest gray eyes darkened, flashed, 
and at last dimmed with tears as she fixed them 
on the elegant youth supposed to be preaching the 
gospel ; and when he ceased to discourse, and, 
pronouncing a graceful benediction, came down 
from the pulpit, he was surprised to see a short, 
dark, resolute-looking woman, with a pair of re 
proachful eyes fixed on him, draw nearer and 
nearer, and at last plant herself in the middle aisle 
just in his way. 

He stopped, courteously, to let her move aside ; 
but she never stirred, only looked straight at him, 
and said, " Do you believe the Bible ? " 

Mr. Clark was still more surprised, but an 
swered civilly, " Certainly I do." 

"You believe," she went on, "that all these folks 
you have been preaching to will be lost eternally 
if they don't believe on the Lord Jesus Christ ? " 

The Reverend Septimus stared blankly, yet her 
" glittering eye " compelled response. " Why, 
yes, madam : I am orthodox." 



94 ODD MISS TODD. 

" And knowin' that, knowin' they will never see 
you again, 't is n't likely, and you have n't had but 
one chance to talk to 'em and tell what responsible 
bein's they are, you 've been and talked all this 
stuff about roses and clouds and brooks and things 
to dyin' souls ! You poor deluded man, what is 
the Lord goin' to say to you in that Day ? " 

The Reverend Mr. Clark choked ; he fairly be 
came faint for a moment, for under his elegance 
and florality he had a conscience, and a somewhat 
dormant but living Christian faith ; but he was 
not man enough to say, " Thank you ; " he only 
pushed by Miss Miny, and asked Mr. Fry, who 
was waiting for him at the door, who the woman 
was who had stopped him. 

" Oh, that is odd Miss Todd," said Mr. Fry, in 
such a matter-of-course way that Mr. Clark did not 
feel it necessary to mention her rebuke. But 
Miss Miny " builded better than she knew ; " the 
youth never uttered such idle words again ; he 
recognized the situation and accepted it, which is 
the key of all true life, and became one of the most 
fervid and spiritual preachers of his sect, though 
he never saw Miss Todd again. 

Deacon Norton, too, winced under her lash, all 
the more that he was not sure his views of the 
matter were right. He felt called upon to deal 
with Miss Todd because she did not attend on 
weekly prayer-meetings, and paid her a visit for 
this purpose. 

Miss Miny waited calmly till he had delivered 
his message, and her turn came. 



ODD MISS TODD. 95 

" Look here, deacon," she said with quiet en 
ergy, " to begin with, I don't see any special obliga 
tion required in Scripter to have prayer meetings. 
It says there folks must enter into their closets, 
and be secret about their praying." 

" But what does Scripter say about two or three 
gatherin' together ? " 

" Well, that 's another matter ; that says if 
they '11 agree about something special to ask. I 
should b'lieve in that if there was a fever in Dor 
set, pr a drought, or a big flood, or a time of wick 
edness being peculiar mighty ; but you won't never 
makf | me believe that ' two or three ' means twenty, 
or that agreeing about a thing to ask for means 
the broadcast sort of fashion you pray. Why, I 
did go once, and I was altogether taken down. 
The first man got up, and instead of praying, he 
told the Lord the longest string about Dorset peo 
ple you ever heard, how bad they were ; and 
then he rambled off about the creation, and the 
state of the heathen. Deacon, I know that man. 
I know he 's as cross as a tiger to his wife, his 
boys hide when they see him coming, and he 's 
mean enough to take double toll out of a widow's 
meal tyag. If he stopped reviling his neighbors, 
and l^mentin' over the isles of the South, and 
tried to example after Jesus Christ, and be a 
k livin' epistle,' as Paul says, I think he 'd do better. 
No ; 1 sha'n't come to any more prayer-meetings. 
I believe in less prayin' and more practicing ; " 
and with a flush on her dark cheek, and a light in 



96 ODD MISS TODD. 

her deep eyes that told how earnest her feeling 
was on the subject, Miss Miny took up the stock 
ing she was knitting- for an idiot boy in the poor- 
house, and clicked her needles faster that ever. 

Deacon Norton uttered a horrified groan, and 
shook his hoary head ominously as he crossed the 
threshold ; but he was a reflective man, and Miss 
Miny's ideas stirred a certain reformative convic 
tion in his mind. He did not thereafter refrain 
from prayer-meetings, for it had been born and 
educated into him that they were a necessity of 
Christian life, but his prayers put on a new style. 
He was earnest in asking for spiritual gifts rather 
than in conveying information to his audience ; 
and many an astonished soul discovered for the 
first time through those fervent petitions that re 
ligion is a matter of week-day life rather thaxi Sun 
day solemnity. 

Scandal, too, found little mercy at Miss Miny's 
door. Thei'e was a woman in Dorset who 

"Made her enjoyment 
And only employment" 

in retailing some real or unreal story to somebody's 
disadvantage. Mrs. Peek was a little woman, with 
an indefinite sort of mouth, a pale face, and dead 
black eyes, with a furtive glitter that betrayed a 
lurking imp hidden in their dark pools.t She 
was a mini, softspoken woman,, but guilefiul and 
gliding as a snake. Miss Miny never visifced her, 
though they met often at sewing circles, an (It it was 
at one of these social occasions that the venomous 



ODD MISS TODD. 97 

little creature began to retail some of her malice 
\ to Mrs. Norton, who was sitting sewing at one end 
i<if a sheet, with Miss Miny at the other. It was 
o.nly a version of the old story, a girl to whom a 
in.'in had offered marriage, and then changed his 
iniiul without giving any reason. 

" Well," said Mrs. Norton, " I think he 'd ought 
to have told her right out like a man, not to sneak 
off backhanded that way." 

" iM-m," responded Mrs. Peek, with an inde 
scribable soft murmur. " Doo you know, Mis' Nor 
ton, for certain, that he ever did ask Albiuy to 
marry him ? " 

Mr$. Norton looked at her over her spectacles, 
with the peculiar glare of that sort of inspection. 
" I 'm 'as certain of it as though he told me, though 
I can't say he did tell me," she answered sharply. 

u Well, m-m, she 's a poor homeless cretur, and 
I wislti her well. I wish her well. But maybe 
you '11 find out things ain't jest as you think they 
is; but I don't want to say nothin', no I don't 
want to speak about it." 

" I b'lieve she 's a good girl, Mis' Peek," said 
the deacon's wife angrily. " I b'lieve every word 
she says. I don' know as anybody asked him to 
make up to her, nor as anybody cares if he doos or 
doos n't, but I blame a man for keepin' company 
with any gal, an' then turnin' square round an' 
backin' down, without no reason nor rhyme to be 
given.!*' 

" Well, m-m, well, if so be, ' is so ; but I 'ra free 



98 ODD MISS TODD. 

to say I ain't by no means sure 't he ever did say 
snip to her, so to speak. I wish her well. I hope 
she '11 marry somebody that '11 make a good home; 
for her, but well, I don't want to say nothin'." 

" What in the world do you keep doing it QT, 
then ? " curtly inquired Miss Miny. 

An evil flash shot out of the dead black eyes, Inke 
flame out of thick smoke ; but Mrs. Peek did .not 
or could not answer, and Miss Todd went on : / 

"If you wish Albiny Morse well, why do you 
keep insimiatin' against her ? I guess you mistake ; 
you don't like her, and you tell that it 's probable 
well, that it 's likely she 's told a lie about! that 
fellow. I don't believe it, and I don't thinkc, Mis' 
Peek, you remember what Scripter says , about 
doin' to others as you 'd have them do to you. 
'T would n't be altogether agreeable, I guess, to have 
folks say that you 'd asked Mr. Peek to have ye 
before he 'd ever thought on 't, now would it ? " 

Mrs. Peek was hit on a sore spot by this pellet ; 
she looked at Miss Miny as if a dagger and a 
thrust would have interpreted her better than 
speech. 

" I have n't nothin' to say to sech remarks," she 
murmured unctuously. " No, I don't wish to say 
no more." 

"Don't say it, then; nobody asked you to," 
stoutly replied Miss Todd. " Least said is soonest 
mended, 'specially about your neighbors." 

" Well, you sot her down consider'ble," said Mrs. 
Norton, as the small serpent glided away, hissing 
gently. 



ODD MISS TODD. 99 

" I don't like such talk," was Miss Todd's re 
joinder. " I take a lot of interest in other folks's 
affairs. I can't help it. I have n't got kith nor kin 
of my own, and I do get to feel as though all Dor 
set was a sort of a family to me ; and I believe the 
Lord made folks to be int'rested in other folks, or 
the world could n't gee, anyhow ; but as for scan 
dal and unfriendly talk, I don't like it. If it's 
got to be, why speak it out. I never could bear 
mice because they always run round under things 
and rustle. It 's mean to sneak, and hide, and 
burrow like that. I 've got as much respect again 
for a man that swears right out as I have for one 
that keeps hintin'." 

" For goodness' sake ! " exclaimed the horrified 
listener. 

Mrs. Norton had her own private grievances, 
and they were growing fast. She had but one 
daughter, a pretty girl of sixteen, whose waving 
red hair, white skin, blue eyes, and scarlet lips 
were mightily attractive to the youths of Dorset ; 
for though Dell Norton had a quick temper, she 
had a merry wit, and was full of fun and bright 
ness. Her father loved her with all his shut-up 
heart, and her mother spoiled and scolded her by 
turns, but if anybody else found fault with Dell she 
was as ready to fly at them as an old hen whose 
chickens are profaned by mortal approach. 

Now the girl had a girlish fashion of speech 
which Miss Todd did not like, it seemed to her so 
near an approach to positive lying ; and she at last 



100 ODD MISS TODD. 

expressed her opinion, as usual, with entire frank 
ness. She had gone into Deacon Norton's of an 
errand one day, and Dell came hurrying in to ask 
her mother if she might go to ride with Sam El- 
derkin, a youth of good report, but a poor farmer, 
which is next door to being a pauper in New Eng 
land. 

Regardless of poverty, however, Sam had " cast 
a wistful eye," as the hymn-book says, into Deacon 
Norton's fold, and Mrs. Norton suspected it. Dell 
liked him as she liked a dozen others, and her 
mother was wise enough to say nothing till she 
should see real occasion. 

Dell was all animation to-day. 

" Oh, ma ! Sam Elderkin 's got a new horse ; his 
uncle down to Hartford sent it up to him. My ! 
ain't it a splendid one ! Its back 's three weeks 
broad, and it jest goes like a livin' storm. I don't 
believe lightnin' would more 'n keep up with it. 
I 'd jest like to ride behind it forever. Can't I go 
over to Wallingford with him ? " 

Mrs. Norton could say neither yes nor no, for 
Miss Miny asked so quickly and quietly, " You 
don't mean what you say, do ye, Adelye ? " 

" Why don't I ? " snapped the girl. 

" Why, forever 's a long time, and I don't be 
lieve even a Hartford horse could go like lightnin'. 
Seems as if your words was n't needed to be so 
big, are they ? " 

Dell sunk down in a chair and stared at this 
audacious female, but her mother blazed up. 



ODD MISS TODD. 101 

" Look here, Miss Todd. I guess I 'm entire 
capable of bossin' Dell. She suits me, if she don't 
you. Go put on you bunnet, child, and go 'long. 
What in the world air you always ineddlin' with 
other folks's business for, Miss Miny ? Does it 
give you real satisfaction ?" 

" No," said Miss Miny quietly, with no trace of 
vexation on her homely face. " I don't know as 
I ought to have said what I did, but I do dislike 
to hear girls get into such a big way of talk ; it 
seems so disrespectful to facts ; and then it uses 
up words so fast, makes idle words, seems to me. 
But I allow, Mrs. Norton, I had better not have 
spoke. I suppose I do seem to take more than my 
lawful int'rest in folks that ain't my folks; but 
you see I grew up in the wilderness, and I have n't 
got any people of my own, and I have to like them 
that don't belong to me, and I get to feeling as if 
they was my own." 

" Well ! " exclaimed Mrs. Norton, aghast at the 
honesty and humility of odd Miss Todd ; but Dell 
rushed out of the bedroom where she had been 
prinking, threw her arms round Miss Miny, and 
^ave her a hearty hug, exclaiming, 

" You dear old thing ! you shall say just what 
you 're a mind to, for you 're just as clever as you 
?an be, so there ! " 

Miss Miny laughed, though her eyes were very 
lim. Dell's generous young heart had been 
;ouched. and thereafter she found her way to the 
ipinster's little house often, and through her confi- 



102 ODD MISS TODD. 

dences in the twilight, or beside the wood fire, Miss 
Miny discovered before many months that Sam 
Elderkin was resolved to marry Dell, and she was 
as determined to marry him ; but both the deacon 
and Mrs. Norton were opposed with equal determi 
nation to the match. 

" As obstinate as a Norton," was a Dorset prov 
erb ; but Miss Miny, unafraid of proverbs, de 
termined to throw herself into the breach, and 
make things as right and straight as she could. 
For once she showed a little- of the serpent's wis 
dom. Instinctively she understood, what the ad 
herents of " women's rights " ignore, the fact that 
a woman can influence a man, or a man a woman, 
from the very reason of their difference in sex ; so 
instead of going to Mrs. Norton, she cornered the 
deacon one day in the store, and asked him to 
step over to her house, and there laid the situation 
before him. 

" 'T ain't no use talkin'," he replied. " Sam El 
derkin ain't worth a copper to-day over 'n' above 
his farm, and I ain't goin' to see Dell give over to 
want nor pestered with a shiftless husband." 

" Well, now, Deacon Norton, who do you expect 
Dell will marry ? " 

The man looked puzzled, but went on : " Why, 
I expect she '11 come acrost some well-to-do feller 
some time that '11 make her comfortable." 

" There ain't anybody in Dorset you want her to 
take up with ? " 

" I don't know as there is, and I don't know as 
there is. On the whole, I guess there ain't." 



ODD MISS TODD. 103 

" Do you mean to send her away ? " 

" No, marm. I don't hold to gals goin' visitin' 
round ; it sure turns their heads." 

" Well, then, deacon, as sure as you set there, 
Sam is bound to marry Dell, and she is in t*he 
same mind, whether you let 'em or no. Now ain't 
it a lot better to give countenance to it than to 
have all Dorset talking about you and yours, say 
ing hard things about your bein' a professor, yet 
so fond of money and so hard on your girl ? Have 
yxm got any right to fetch reproach on the Church, 
jest to have your will done in this thing? Sam 
Elderkin is a good young man as ever was, only 
le 's poor. Was n't Mis' Norton and you poor 
vhen you commenced in life ; and are you willing 
:o make Dell real unhappy, and give occasion to 
;he enemy to revile, because you want her to do 
lifferent from what you did ? " 

" You 're the peskiest woman I ever see ! " 
oared the deacon, flinging out of the house and 
)anging the door behind him. But he did not 
shut the truths he had heard inside that door ; 
hey rang in his ears wherever he went, followed 
lim, like the frogs of Egypt's plague, even into 
us bedchamber, tingled in his brain at every 
)rayer-meeting, and, to use his own phrase, when 
le came to confession afterward, " Them things 
r ou said jest stuck to me like a bunch of burdocks 
o a dog's tail. I could n't neither drop 'em, nor 
:law 'eni off." 

But the result was that in due season Dell Nor- 



104 ODD MISS TODD. 

ton was married properly at her father's house, 
and the farm Sam Elderkin owned dowered with 
four grade Alderneys from the Norton herd and a 
pair of great red oxen. Dell developed into a 
model wife and mother, and made such biitter as 
Dorset never saw before ; and when little hands 
grasped the old man's rough fingers, and little feet 
toddled beside him down to the garden gate, Dea 
con Norton, in his secret heart, felt a thrill of fer 
vent gratitude to odd Miss Todd. 

There lived in Dorset a poor widow with one 
son. Jonas Pringle was always a good boy, in 
fact, rather a goody boy, one of the sort that usually 
boast of being the sons of poor but pious parents. 
He was lean and pale as a small boy, and seemed 
merely to draw out like a telescope rather than 
grow with advancing years. His hair was palely 
brown, his eyes palely blue, and his thin face and 
uncertain mouth could not be called lovely even 
by the extremest maternal partiality. His mother 
was a wailing female who would have wept for 
something she had not in the very lap of luxury, 
and life afforded her abundant grievances. If the 
sky shone cloudless, she shook her head and called 
the day " a real weather-breeder ; " if it rained, 
she prognosticated blasted grain, rotted potatoes, 
floods, land slips, or any other evil she could think 
of. 

Jonas had the hunger for books and education 
that his unhealthy sort of organization is so apt to 
foster. The truest kindness would have been to 

I 



ODD MISS TODD. 105 

turn him out on a farm and make him work for 
his living, where sun and air, keen winds, and 
fresh earth would have brought life and color. into 
his unwholesome visage, and hearty labor strength 
ened his flaccid muscles and knit his loose joints. 
He needed fibre and force, outward growth, and 
nourishing food. But his weak mother coddled 
him from babyhood, kept him close by the stove, 
and taught him to knit and sew, when he should 
have been snowballing other boys or skating on 
Dorset Pond. She fed him on such cake and pie 
as her poverty of money and skill both allowed, 
messes of poor flour, lard, soda, molasses, and all 
spice 5 she gave him strong green tea for the con- 
sequei't, headaches these viands surely caused, and 
tucked him up in bed with hot bricks and doses 
of herb tea, when boys of his own age, like Sam 
ElderkiP, slept in the garret, with snowdrifts on 
their homespun blankets. 

Miss Miny had only been established in Dorset 
a few years, and Jonas was a tall sallow youth of 
eighteen, when one fine day Mrs. Pringle took to 
her bed, to rise no more. Contradictory as women 
are, she endured her last illness with cheerful forti 
tude, and parted from Jonas with a smile, com 
mending him in full faith to the widow's God. Jo 
nas did not appear to suffer as much as would have 
pleased sympathizing friends. The truth was, his 
bringing up had necessarily made him selfish, and 
while he really mourned for his mother, it was 
more because she had left him to take care of him- 



106 ODD MISS TODD. 

self than for any deep filial love or sense of lost 
companionship. 

It was the greatest comfort he could have, to be 
taken home by Miss Todd, installed in her com 
fortable spare room, and made much of, and Dor 
set people were not greatly surprised when they 
learned it was Miss Miny's intention to educate 
Jonas for the ministry, and give him a home. It 
required some self-denial on Miss Miny's part to 
do this ; her old servant had died just before Mrs. 
Pringle, and as yet she had not replaced her. She 
resolved now to do her own work, and she also 
bought a knitting machine, and ground out do/zens 
of pairs of worsted stockings, which she sold. / Her 
money had been well invested, but her charities 
were exhaustive, and she would not discontinue 
one of them, but did her utmost in the, way of 
work and economy for Jonas's sake, and felt her 
self repaid when in five years' time he cam*} back a 
full-fledged minister of the gospel, and preached 
in the old church of his native village. 

He did not at once attempt to settle anywhere. 
Dorset was pleasant to his soul. He was comfort 
ably housed and fed, and it gave him keen pleasure , 
to walk abroad among those who had looked down , 
on his youthful poverty, and look down on them . 
from his double pinnacle of education and office. 
Jonas was selfish, crafty, and plausible ; his pale 
blue eyes were true to their usual index of chara- 
ter, an index that points to self-love and want of 
genuine honesty ; and when he suggested that his 



ODD MISS TODD. 107 

health was injured by study, and he thought it 
would be best for him to spend the summer in 
Dorset and recruit, Miss Miny joyfully fell in 
with the arrangement. 

It is a fixed law of our moral nature that we 
love those whom we befriend, and odd Miss Todd 
was not odd enough to evade this constitutional 
edict. She had spent time, money, and pains on 
Jonas as freely as if he had been her son, and she 
loved him with as pure and fervent affection as 
.ever mother felt for her only boy, for in her nature 
h^y that intense maternal feeling which is not given 
al\vays to the physical mother, that capacity of 
dev otion, self-sacrifice, and powerful affection that 
makjes a woman most womanly, most happy, yet 
capa.ble of anguish unspeakable and mourning that 
will vnot be comforted. It did not matter to Miss 
Minjjr that Jonas was still lank, sallow, pale-haired, 
and trJie very conformation and likeness of a solemn 
prig '-, that he always spoke with the awful and 
luguljvious intonation of "the sacred desk." She 
did t^ot see in him any distasteful trait or any un- 
comf<prtable habit ; she enjoyed his intellectual con- 
versa^ion, his reading aloud, his rather obtrusive 
and Outspoken piety. So Jonas basked in the com 
fort of Miss Miny's neat bright house all the long 
summer through, now and then exhorting at prayer- 
meetrngs or helping at a funeral just to keep his 
hand -in. 

HQ was not naturally an energetic man ; his 
taster were studious and dainty, his constitution 



108 ODD MISS TODD. 

frail, and all these combined to make him indolent. 
As Mrs. Deacon Norton pungently remarked, " He 
won't never eat smart man's bread : he likes to set 
on a fence and see folks mow." 

As he whiled away the summer, it came into his 
head how pleasant life would be if one need not 
work for a living, not a singular idea, and one 
that most of us who do work for a living frequently 
entertain, but with the thought arose a way of es 
cape from this dreaded vista. Why should not he 
rnarry Miss Miny ? He might perhaps have specu-f 
lated on becoming her heir, but she had already/ 
confided to him that her property had been left , to 
provide a free library and reading-room for /the 
town of Dorset, and her will was in the judgr 6 f 
probate's hands. 

It was an objection that she was twenty yr r ears 
older than he, but in New England country tfowns 
a woman is frequently some years older thai) 1 her 
husband, and Miss Miny had no relatives to object, 
nor had he. 

Once married, it would be easy to persuad*? her 
to destroy that will, and he had the acutene* 8 &>* 
his own interest common to selfish men, and under 
stood that odd Miss Todd could do an ode . thing 
without provoking the comment of society- He 
had full faith in his own powers of fascinat; n i <is 
well as in her capacity for deep feeling, and 1 after 
much consideration resolved to make cautions ap 
proaches. He became more devoted in manner; 
exerted himself to spare her fatigue and trouble > 



ODD MISS TODD. 109 

sighed occasionally, and fixed his eyes on her in a 
pathetic way ; interspersed his readings with poe 
try ; put on her shawl witli almost an embrace ; and 
never went out for a stroll without bringing her 
wild flowers that she loved, or berries from the hills 
and uplands. 

Poor Miss Todd ! in that lone bosom the girl's 
heait lay sleeping ; no touch of prince's lips hail 
ever disturbed its long sleep, but it was living still, 
and now with strange and almost painful throbs it 
b^gan to dream, to stir. She resisted the unwonted 
trouble as a blind man might resist unknown ap- 
proich and alien caresses, not knowing how to 
deiine the new and vague delight. She prayed fer 
vently that she might not be given to idolatry, for 
she kpew well that Jonas grew dearer to her daily, 
though she had not yet recognized the divine un 
rest that was sweeter than any foregone peace ; her 
heart ached with feeling as we sometimes ache 
physically with laughter, for it was a pleasant pain. 
Does tae aloe leave its long verdurous quiet and 
burst into stately bloom with such careless ease as 
the new-sprung violet blossoms ? Does not some 
dull pang strike through the bulb that has lain all 
winter barren and hidden, when it sends upward 
its odorous spike of heaven-blue bells? 

I do not know whether to weep or smile over this 
poor tale of genuine if delayed passion ; it certainly 
is pitiful, yet it cannot help being ludicrous to be 
tray what curious fancies possessed odd Miss Todd 
at this crisis of her life. No " sudden interposition 



110 ODD MISS TODD. 

of several guardian angels," such as saved dear old 
Hepzibah's turban from desecration, interfered in 
her behalf ; she began to wear pink ribbons, which 
she had never yet indulged in ; and further to set 
off her dark and dingy skin, bought herself a 
bright deep green gown ; strove with the patient 
anguish only a woman knows to build her scant and 
crinkled hair up in some semblance of prevailing 
fashions ; and illuminated her decent gray and 
black Sunday bonnet with a red rose outside and a- 
blue bow inside. Dorset stared with all its eyes, 
but only laughed at odd Miss Todd. She lived l>e- 
hind her character as behind a shield ; not a human 
being suspected that these outbursts of color, these 
shining eyes, this alert step, were not oddities at 
all, but genuine submissions to nature's comnxmest 
law, the law of love. 

It occurred to Jonas as the long summer days 
went on that it would be very pleasant to drive 
about Dorset, and would give him more opportu 
nity to hold private converse with Miss Miry; for 
her house was already like the cave of Adullam : 
" every one in distress, and everyone discontented," 
came there for help and counsel, and thei P tete-d- 
tetes were few and brief ; so he borrowed sa ne kind 
body's old horse and rattling wagon now ar/1 again, 
and drove Miss Todd through winding lanes, fra 
grant woods, up and down hills from whence the 
outlook was exquisite ; or they wound along the 
edge of Dorset Pond, catching the too sweet breath 
of the white clethra on its shores, the finer odor of 



ODD MISS TODD. Ill 

late wild roses, or the delicate perfume of grape blos 
soms, all recalling Miss Miny's childhood to her 
mind and her heart, and putting the wistful girlish 
look into eyes that so long had gazed sadly on sin 
and sorrow. But all this took up her time. House 
work languished, and she bethought herself of get 
ting some help in her kitchen, when one hot Au 
gust day Parson Fry stalked in to request aid from 
her ever-ready benevolence. 

He had just received a letter from Mary Spencer, 
a former resident of Dorset, and distantly related 
to his wife, written on her death-bed. She had 
married a Southerner many years ago, a man of 
wealth, who had been attracted by her great beauty. 
She was but a poor girl, the tavern-keeper's daugh 
ter, and Mr. Spencer had taken her to Carolina, 
where for a year or two she lived an ideal life, 
happy as love and luxury can make a girl who has 
not known either before. Then the war came ; her 
husband lost all his property, was killed in battle, 
and she returned to Champlin, a small town in 
Massachusetts, where her father had moved from 
Dorset, bringing with her a baby girl. There she 
had lived as before, helping in the tavern work till 
her child was eighteen years old. Her mother had 
died long ago, and she herself been wasting for 
years with slow consumption, when suddenly her 
father fell dead of apoplexy, and the shock has 
tened her own end. She had not a relative in the 
world or a friend to whose care she could leave 
Eleanor, except Parson Fry, and when he received 



112 ODD MISS TODD. 

her letter she was already dead, and Nora crying 
her heart out over her mother. Parson Fry was 
at his wits' end ; he had not a spare inch of room 
in the parsonage. Indeed, if any brother minister 
happened in, as they are apt to do, Deacon Norton 
had to lodge him, for the " minister's blessing " 
was in full force in the parson's abode, ten small 
children and a baby giving him what Mrs. Norton 
rather sarcastically called " John Rogers's mea 
sure." She had been brought up on the old New 
England Primer, and the dim crowd that sur 
rounded that martyr at the stake ten children 
and one to carry was present to her memory. 

It was of course impossible to take Nora into 
his own house, so he came to consult with Miss 
Todd about her disposal, and found that good wo 
man ready and glad to help him ; indeed, she re 
garded it as a direct providence that the girl had 
been sent to her in time of need. Providence 
does not always work after our limited prescience, 
however, but it did prove to be the divinest of prov 
idences to Miss Miny that Nora arrived just then, 
though it wore a dark frown for a long time, and 
hid its " smiling face." 

Eleanor Spencer had lived so long in the tavern 
at Champlin, and been made so useful in conse 
quence of her mother's failing health, that Miss 
Miny's housework was mere play to her young 
strength and older experience. After the old patri 
archal fashion of New England, she was madj'e one 
of the family, and Jonas opened his eyes to j their 



ODD MISS TODD. 113 

fullest extent when Nora appeared first at the 
breakfast-table, having arrived the night before, 
and already cooked the pink slice of savory ham, 
set about with milk-white eggs, the puffy biscuit, 
the spongy flapjacks, and clear coffee that his soul 
loved. She inherited her mother's beauty, with the 
coloring of her father's family : a brilliant com 
plexion, great, soft dark eyes, bright hair that waved 
all over her shapely head and was gathered in coil 
on coil behind, and a slight and graceful figure, all 
of which her lilac print dress and spotless apron set 
off as green laaves do a rose. She was " a vision 
of delight" indeed, and Miss Miny, honest soul! 
looked at her with pleasure and admiration. 

But as the summer days went on, and Nora be 
came more wonted to her work, she learned to be 
more tieft and nimble, and had many an hour to 
spend in the keeping-room, busy with her own sew 
ing or Miss Miny's. She, too, listened to the read 
ings and absorbed them into her quick and willing 
mind ; her eyes darkened or shone at the lofty or 
passionate poetry, and her beautiful dimples danced, 
her red lips quivered with laughter, at whatever 
wit or humor lay among Jonas's selections. She 
was a whole audience in herself, and her attention 
and appreciation flattered the reader deeply, but 
her beauty did more potent execution. 

For Jonas was young ; and here, face to face 
with him day after day, was a girl beautiful as 
flesh and blood can be, and as intelligent as beau 
tiful. It was altogether too much. His heart tri- 



114 ODD MISS TODD. 

umphed over his policy ; in the madness of a real 
passion he was ready to go all lengths of labor and 
renunciation if Nora were his ; and she began with 
that sort of hero worship inborn in most girls to 
look up adoringly at such wonders of education and 
intellect as his. She had seen hitherto only the 
commonest class of men, such as frequent a coun 
try tavern, and had no measure in her mind by 
which to test this man's real capacity ; so she stood 
as ready to receive and respond to his first expres 
sion of feeling as a budded rose stands ready wait 
ing for the expanding sun. 

It was some time before Miss Miny's unsuspicious 
nature perceived the open secret that was acting in 
her quiet house. She was perceptive enough, but 
it seemed to her inexperience that Jonas was as 
much bound to prefer her to all other women as if 
he had sworn an oath of fealty. She was as odd 
in her ignorance of humanity as in everything 
else ; a kiss would have been to this singular hon 
esty of hers as sacred as a marriage vow ; incred 
ible as it may seem, she did not imagine it possible 
for a man to show every lover-like attention to a 
woman, and then " whistle down the wind " to a 
prettier face. This sort of thing, common aft blades 
of grass, wore to her simplicity an aspect both tragic 
and brutal ; dishonesty was an equal crime in her 
eyes with murder, for she took her ethical standard 
from the Bible, not from society, and found there 
no distinction in evil, no grades of sin, save that 
awful exception, the sin unpardonable. 



ODD MISS TODD. 115 

Yet before October poured its living dyes along 
the Dorset hills, odd Miss Todd began to see what 
no other woman could have so long misunderstood. 
She felt in her kind and faithful bosom the tortures 
that have no parallel in this world, the remorse 
less tortures of jealousy. She had been all her life 
at peace with herself. Even Parson Fry had dis 
turbed his soul over her religious experience be 
cause she never could truthfully say that she was 
the chief of sinners. But now she hated herself as 
earnestly as Calvin could have desired ; for there 
developed within her such suspicion, such unkind- 
ness, something so near akin to hatred, that her 
prayers were mere utterances of agony, and her 
Bible a dead letter. 

Slf.ep forsook her, and her daily food grew bit 
ter. It was scarcely a relief to her when Jonas 
left Dorset to find, if possible, a parish where he 
was wanted ; for she knew, with the fearful insight 
of jealousy, why Nora took her daily walk to the 
post-office, and why the letters she herself received 
from her boy were so dry and brief. She was too 
good to be positively unkind to Nora, and the girl 
was too deep in her bright dream to be troubled by 
Miss Todd's unusual silence and constrained man 
ner. Her heart would have been shocked to pity 
she, had a kind heart to know what a life her 
companion and friend was enduring. 

Before Jonas had been prospecting if that 
phrase is allowable a month, he was engaged to 
fill the pulpit of a country church in Connecticut 






116 ODD MISS TODD. 

for a year, and with tfie characteristic imprudence 
of a man in love, he thought this was enough to 
warrant his marriage. He argued that one engage 
ment would at least lead to another, and most prob 
ably to a settlement ; for he had a certain floral 
eloquence and a " glittering generality " in his ser 
mons that tickled people's ears, and did not dis 
turb their consciences, two qualifications which 
always make a clergyman popular. He had not 
an idea that he had treated Miss Todd in a way 
she could or should resent. He fell back on the 
patent fact that he had never asked her to marry 
him ; and it is a general masculine code that up to 
this Rubicon you may fight or flee, as you like* 

So he went back to Dorset in great glee ; but his 
first entrance into the atmosphere of Miss Todd's 
house warned him of possible explosives. He so 
bered down his joy, was pleasant and deferential 
to Miss Miny, and devised private opportunites of 
speech with Nora ; in fact, his final appeal to her, 
and her acceptance, took place in what he after 
ward recalled as " that sacred spot in front of the 
corner grocery." 

It was agreed between the lovers that Miss 
Todd should not at present be taken intc> their 
confidence. They had an unacknowledged con 
sciousness of her probable displeasure, so she was 
left to fight with her grief in that solitude that 
makes battle so hard, victory so long of coming. 
She was a reasonable woman ordinarily, but what 
jealous man or woman is reasonable ? It was the 



ODD MISS TODD. 117 

most natural thing in the world that a young fel 
low like Jonas, ready to marry a plain, positive, 
odd, and old woman, from motives of policy, should 
be turned from his intent by the daily presence 
and contrast of abundant beauty and the divine 
charm of youth, but Miss Todd resented it in her 
soul as a real crime. There was nothing for it but 
to run from this conflict, and she could not run ; 
she had nowhere to go. Fortunately for her, this 
inward storm disturbed the equilibrium of her 
strong constitution ; she took to her bed, and in 
the comfortless tossings of a long low fever prayed 
day and night to die. No one dies, however, when 
they wish to ; she had to submit to Nora's patient 
and careful nursing ; for though the girl was too 
young to show much strength of character as yet, 
she was kind, and pitied Miss Miny from the 
heights of her own vernal joy, as a poor loveless 
old maid. Fortunately she did not put her feeling 
into words, but only put off her marriage, and 
took faithful care of Miss Todd through the long, 
dreary winter ; and when the poor woman crept 
back to life again, it was to have Jonas's plans and 
happiness poured into her ears. She had a relapse, 
of course. People said she had been imprudent ; 
and so she had, but long before her fever, im 
prudent with the headlong carelessness of women 
who let themselves fall into an open pit, from 
xvlik'h none can deliver them. 

The relapse served one good purpose : it gave 
the best of reasons why this marriage should not 



118 ODD MISS TODD. 

take place at her house. Che hired a nurse from 
another village, and sent Nora to the parsonage 
for her wedding ; and when the happy pair came 
to say good-by, she was too ill to see them. It 
was a long time before Miss Miny recovered ; but 
by June she declared herself well, and resumed her 
lonely life. Yet there was a great change in her, 
odd as she still was : a deeper, tenderer charity 
toward women, whom hitherto she had held in a 
sort of contempt ; now she seemed to have a key 
to many of their shortcomings, and to sympathise 
with their pains and follies more than women often 
do with each other. Even to those whom society 
holds unpardonable and in as small a place as 
Dorset there are such she extended the very 
mercy of Christ, and with human love and pity 
helped Him to redeem them. Toward men she 
became pitiless and almost fierce. The injustice 
of their social position for the first time became 
visible to her eyes, and she resented it with the 
force of her nature. Whatever good she die. was 
now turned into another channel : she cared no 
longer for the boys in the factory, but devoted her 
self to the teaching of the girls in Dorset, sending 
to Boston for a female teacher, and setting up a 
private school at her own expense, except the smal' 
fees charged for tuition, which went no further than 
to hire and heat the schoolrooms. Jonas and his 
wife rarely returned to the town, for Miss Todd 
never invited them, and Mr. Fry could not. Their* 
first child was named Hermione Todd, but never 






ODD MISS TODD. 121 

lonely woman was mourned and missed as few 
women are except in their own households. 

Mrs. Norton made the one characteristic com 
ment of the day as she looked at the poor shrunken 
face of the dead : " Well, I never did ! of all 
things! Laid out in a night-gownd and put into 
a pine coffin ! She has n't never got over bein' 
odd Miss Todd." 



AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 

" We '11 tak' a cup o' kindness yet 
For auld lang syne, my dear ! " 

" PILE in, Hannah. Get right down 'long o' the 
clock, so 's to kinder shore it up. I '11 fix in them 
pillers t' other side on 't, and you can set back 
ag'inst the bed. Good-by, folks ! Gee up ! 
Bright. Gee ! I tell ye, Buck." 

" Good-by ! " nodded Hannah, from the depths 
of the old calash which granny had given her for 
a riding-hood, and her rosy face sparkled under 
the green shadow like a blossom under a burdock 
leaf. 

This was their wedding journey. Thirty iong 
miles to be traveled, at the slow pace of an ox-cart, 
where to-day a railroad spins by, and a log hut in 
the dim distance. 

But Hannah did not cry about it. There was a 
momentary choking, perhaps, in her throat, as she 
caught a last view of granny's mob-cap and her 
father's rough face, with the red head of her small 
step-brother between them, grouped in the door 
way. Her mother had died long ago, and there 
was another in her place now, and a swarm of chil 
dren. Hannah was going to her own home, to a 



ODD MISS TODD. 119 

profited thereby, and though Jonas hoped to the 
end he received nothing. She had made a new 
will, and all her money went to found a female col 
lege of the smallest size, eligible for only ten mem 
bers, and in its rigid rule resembling a nunnery. 

For at length she did die, and during her last ill 
ness Mr. Fry, in pursuance of his office, had many 
serious conversations with her. One day he said, 
" And you feel in charity with all men, Sister 
Todd?" 

" I don't know that," she replied sharply. " I 
suppose it is n't a duty to forgive folks unless they 
ask for forgiveness, is't?" 

Parson Fry looked puzzled. " Well," he said 
meditatively, " I do suppose we ought to keep con- 
tinooally in a forgiving frame." 

" That is n't the point. You can't tell me about 
Scripter. The Lord never forgives folks without 
they repent. To offer such folks forgiveness would 
come the nearest of anything I can think of to 
throwin' pearls before swine ; they 'd turn and rend 
you, surely." 

" But you should be ready to forgive sech as do 
repent and seek pardon," solemnly replied the par 
son, a little disturbed by her contumacy. 

" Well, I hope I am ; but there 's small chance 
I shall be asked." 

She never was. Though Jonas struggled with 
poverty, and Nora lost her beauty and grace in 
the hard life of a poor minister's wife, and her 
husband repented that he had not married Miss 



120 ODD MISS TODD. 

Todd, it was simply because he hungered for money 
with the primal instincts of a lazy and selfish man, 
from whom the brief insanity of passion had long 
fled, and who pined for the fleshpots of Egypt. 
That he had wronged her, or hurt her almost to the 
death, never occurred to him. 

Miss Miny shocked the conventions of Dorset 
even to her last hour, for she extracted a promise 
solemn as an oath from her nurse with regard to 
her funeral. 

" I want you should put on me a clean night- 
gownd and cap, Semantl^. I am going to sleep 
till the Lord comes, and I think it is a waste of 
good clothes to bury them. I wish to look con 
formable. Moreover, I want a plain pine coffin, and 
no plate about it. Money isn't plenty enough, as 
long as there 's a poor woman livin', to make a vain 
show of it. I don't expect gown nor coffin to rise 
no more 'n this miserable old body, and I won't be 
answerable for foolish waste of what the Lord 
gave me." 

After this she laid her cheek on her hand, sighed, 
and died, quietly as a brown leaf falls from the last 
tree that holds those tawny ghosts into the edge of 
winter. 

Dorset people all came to her funeral, which was 
held in the meeting-house, and the universal grief 
discovered her secret benefactions as the early 
rains discover seeds long ago sown. 

She had done a thousand kindnesses, small but 
helpful, that were all remembered now, and the 



AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 123 

much easier life, and going with John. Why 
should she cry ? 

Besides, Hannah was the merriest little woman 
in the country. She had a laugh always lying 
ready in a convenient dimple. 

She never knew what " blues " meant, except to 
dye stocking-yarn. She was sunny as a dandelion 
and gay as a bobolink. Her sweet good-nature 
never failed through the long day's journey, and 
when night came she made a pot of tea at the 
camp-fire, roasted a row of apples, and broiled a 
partridge John shot by the wayside, with as much 
enjoyment as if this was the merest picnic excur 
sion, and not a solitary camp in the forest, long 
miles away from any human dwelling, and by no 
means sure of safety from some lingering savage, 
some beast of harmful nature, or at least a visit 
f i-om a shambling black bear, for bears were plenti 
ful enough in that region. 

But none of these things worried Hannah. She 
ate her supper with hearty appetite, said her prayers 
with John, and curled down on the feather-bed in 
the cart, while John heaped on more wood, and, 
shouldering his musket, went to lengthen the ropes 
that tethered his oxen, and then mounted guard 
over the camp. Hannah watched his fine, grave 
face, as the flickering light illuminated it, for a few 
minutes, and then slept tranquilly till dawn. And 
by sunset next day the little party drew up at the 
door of the log hut they called home. 

It looked very pretty to Hannah. She had the 



124 AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 

fairy gift, that is so rare among mortals, of seeing 
beauty in its faintest expression ; and the young 
grass about the rough stone doorstep, the crimson 
cones on the great larch-tree behind it, the sunlit 
panes of the west window, the laugh and sparkle of 
the brook that ran through the clearing, the blue 
eyes of the squirrel-caps, that blossomed shyly and 
daintily beside the stumps of new-felled trees, all 
these she saw and delighted in. And when the 
door was open, the old clock set up, the bed laid 
on the standing bed-place, and the three chairs and 
table ranged against the wall, she began her house 
wifery directly, singing as she went. Before John 
had put his oxen in the small barn, sheltered the 
cart and the tools in it, and shaken down hay into 
the manger, Hannah had made a fire, hung on the 
kettle, spread up her bed with homespun sheets 
and blankets and a wonderful cover of white-and- 
red chintz, set the table with a loaf of bread, a 
square of yellow butter, a bowl of maple sugar, 
and a plate of cheese ; and even released the cock 
and the hen from their uneasy prison in a splint 
basket, and was feeding them in the little wood 
shed, when John came in. 

His face lit up, as he entered, with that joyful 
sense of home so instinctive in every true man and 
woman. He rubbed his hard hands together, and, 
catching Hannah as she came in at the shed-door, 
bestowed upon her a resounding kiss. 

" You 're the most of a little woman I ever see, 
Hannah, I swan to man." 



AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 125 

Hannah laughed like a swarm of spring black 
birds. " I declare, John, you do beat all ! Ain't 
it real pleasant here ? Seems to me I never saw 
things so handy." 

Oh, Hannah, what if your prophetic soul could 
have foreseen the conveniences of this hundred 
years after! Yet the shelves, the pegs, the cup 
board in the corner, the broad shelf above the fire, 
the great pine chest under the window, and the 
clumsy settle, all wrought out of pine board by 
John's patient and skillful fingers, filled all her 
needs ; and what can modern conveniences do 
more ? 

So they ate their supper at home for the first 
time, happy as new-nested birds, and far more grate 
ful. 

John had built a sawmill on the brook a little 
way from the house, and already owned a flourish 
ing trade , for the settlement about the lake from 
which Nepasset Brook sprung was quite large, and 
till John Perkins went there the lumber had been 
all drawn fifteen miles off, to Litchfield, and his mill 
was only three miles from Nepash village. Hard 
work and hard fare lay before them both ; but they 
were not daunted by the prospect. Hannah sung 
over her washtub and her bread-bowl, and found 
time to fill a " posy bed " with old-fashioned flow 
ers, train a wild grapevine on the south side of the 
cabin, and run up daily to the mill with dinner to 
John. But by and by a cradle entered the door, 
and a baby was laid in it. No more running to 



126 AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 

mill. John must come home to dinner or carry 
his own pail, for the nursling could neither be 
left nor taken. Hannah sung now to some pur 
pose ; and, since there were no green blinds to the 
window, no carpets to fade, and no superstition 
about flies and moths, plenty of sunshine poured in 
on little Dorothy, and she grew like a blossom. 

One baby is well enough in a log cabin, with 
one room for all the purposes of life ; but when 
next year brought two more, a pair of stout boys, 
then John began to saw lumber for his own use. 
A bedroom was built on the east side of the house, 
and a rough stairway into the loft, more room 
perhaps than was needed ; but John was called in 
Nepash " a dre'df ul forecastin' man," and he took 
warning from the twins. And timely warning it 
proved, for as the years slipped by, one after an 
other, they left their arrows in his quiver, till ten 
children bloomed about the hearth. The old cabin 
had disappeared entirely. A good-sized frame house 
of one story, with a high-pitched roof, stood in its 
stead, and a slab fence kept roving animals out of 
the yard and saved the apple-trees from the teeth 
of stray cows and horses. 

Poor enough they were still. The loom in the 
garret always had its web ready, the great wheel 
by the other window sung its busy song year in and 
year out. Dolly was her mother's right hand now ; 
and the twins, Ralph and Reuben, could fire the 
musket and chop wood. Sylvy, the fourth child, 
was the odd one. All the rest were sturdy, rosy, 



AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 127 

laughing girls and boys ; but Sylvy had been a 
pining baby, and grew up into a slender, elegant 
creature, with clear gray eyes, limpid as water, 
but bright as stars, and fringed with long golden 
lashes the color of her beautiful hair, locks that 
were coiled in fold on fold at the back of her fine 
head, like wreaths of undyed silk, so pale was their 
yellow lustre. She bloomed among the crowd of 
red-cheeked, dark-haired lads and lasses, stately 
and incongruous as a June lily in a bed of tulips. 
But Sylvy did not stay at home. The parson's 
lady at Litchfield came to Nepash one Sunday, 
with her husband, and, seeing Sylvia in the square 
corner pew, with the rest, was mightily struck by 
her lovely face, and offered to take her home with 
her the next week, for the better advantages of 
schooling. Hannah could not have spared Dolly ; 
but Sylvia was a dreamy, unpractical child, and, 
though all the dearer for being the solitary lamb 
of the flock by virtue of her essential difference 
from the rest, still, for that very reason, it became 
easier to let her go. Parson Everett was childless, 
and in two years' time both he and his wife adored 
the gentle, graceful girl ; and she loved them 
dearly. They could not part with her, and at last 
adopted her formally as their daughter, with the 
unwilling consent of John and Hannah. Yet they 
knew it was greatly " for Sylvy's betterment," as 
they phrased it ; so at last they let her go. 

But when Dolly was a sturdy young woman of 
twenty-five the war-trumpet blew, and John and 



128 AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 

the twins heard it effectually. There was a sudden 
leaving of the plough in the furrow. The planting 
was set aside for the children to finish, the old 
musket rubbed up, and, with set lips and resolute 
eyes, the three men walked away one May morning 
to join the Nepash company. Hannah kept up her 
smiling courage through it all. If her heart gave 
way, nobody knew it but God and John. The 
boys she encouraged and inspired, and the children 
were shamed out of their childish tears by mother's 
bright face and cheery talk. 

Then she set them all to work. There was corn 
to plant, wheat to sow, potatoes to set ; flax and 
wool to spin and weave, for clothes would be needed 
for all, both absent and stay-at-homes. There was 
no father to superintend the outdoor work ; so 
Hannah took the field, and marshaled her forces 
on Nepasset Brook much as the commander-in-chief 
was doing on a larger scale elsewhere. Eben, the 
biggest boy, and Joey, who came next him, were 
to do all the planting ; Diana and Sam took on 
themselves the care of the potato-patch, the fowls, 
and the cow ; Dolly must spin and weave when 
mother left either the wheel or loom to attend to 
the general ordering of the forces ; while Obed and 
Betty, the younglings of the flock, were detailed to 
weed, pick vegetables (such few as were raised in 
the small garden), gather berries, herbs, nuts, hunt 
the straying turkeys' nests, and make themselves 
generally useful. At evening all the girls sewed ; 
the boys mended their shoes, having learned so 



AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 129 

much from a traveling cobbler ; and the mother 
taught them all her small stock of schooling would 
allow. At least, they each knew how to read, and 
most of them to write, after a very uncertain fash 
ion. As to spelling, nobody knew how to spell in 
those days. Rank and fashion did not imply or 
thography. It has even been whispered by the 
profane and iconoclastic that the great G. W. him 
self would have been the first to sit down under the 
superhuman test of a modern spelling-match. 

But they did know the four simple rules of arith 
metic, and could say the epigrammatic rhymes of 
the old New England Primer and -the sibyllic for 
mulas of the Assembly's Catechism as glibly as the 
child of to-day repeats " The House that Jack 
Built." 

So the summer went on. The corn tasseled, the 
wheat-ears filled well, the potatoes hung out rich 
clusters of their delicate and graceful blossoms, 
beans straggled half over the garden, the hens did 
their duty bravely, and the cow produced a heifer 
calf. 

Father and the boys were fighting now, and 
mother's merry words were more rare, though her 
bright face still wore its smiling courage. They 
heard rarely from the army. Now and then a post- 
rider stopped at the Nepash tavern and brought a 
few letters or a little news ; but this was at long 
intervals, and women who watched and waited at 
home without constant mail service and telegraphic 
flashes, aware that news of disaster, of wounds, of 



130 AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 

illness, could only reach them too late to serve or 
save ; and that to reach the ill or the dying involved 
a larger and more disastrous journey than the sur 
vey of half the world demands now, these women 
endured pangs beyond our comprehension, and en 
dured them with a courage and patience that might 
have furnished forth an army of heroes, that did 
go far to make heroes of that improvised, ill-condi 
tioned, eager multitude who conquered the trained 
bands of their oppressors and set their sons " free 
and equal," to use their own dubious phraseology, 
before the face of humanity at large. 

By and by winter came on, with all its terrors. 
By night wolves howled about the lonely house, 
and sprung back over the palings when Eben went 
to the door with his musket. Joe hauled wood 
from the forest on a hand-sled ; and Dolly and 
Diana took it in through the kitchen window, when 
the drifts were so high that the woodshed door 
could not be opened. Besides, all the hens were 
gathered in there, as well for greater warmth as 
for convenience in feeding, and the barn was only 
to be reached with snowshoes and entered by the 
window above the manger. 

Hard times these were. The loom in the garret 
could not be used, for even fingers would freeze in 
that atmosphere ; so the thread was wound off, 
twisted on the great wheel, and knit into stockings, 
the boys learning to fashion their own, while Han 
nah knit her anxiety and her hidden heartaches 
into socks for her soldier-boys and their father. 



AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 131 

By another spring the aching and anxiousness 
were a little dulled, for habit blunts even the keen 
edge of mortal pain. They had news that summer 
that Ralph had been severely wounded, but had 
recovered ; that John had gone through a sharp 
attack of camp-fever ; that Reuben was taken pris 
oner, but escaped by his own wit. Hannah was 
thankful and grateful beyond expression. Perhaps 
another woman would have wept and wailed, to 
think all this had come to pass without her know 
ledge or her aid ; but it was Hannah's way to look 
at the bright side of things. Sylvia would always 
remember how once, when she was looking" at 
Mount Tahconic, darkened by a brooding tempest, 
its crags frowning blackly above the dark forest 
at its foot and the lurid cloud above its head torn 
by fierce lances of light, she hid her head in her 
mother's checked apron, in the helpless terror of 
an imaginative child ; but, instead of being soothed 
and pitied, mother had only laughed a little gay 
laugh, and said gently, but merrily : 

" Why, Sylvy, the sun 's right on the other side ; 
only you don't see it." 

After that she always thought her mother saw 
the sun when nobody else could. And in a spirit 
ual sense it was true. 

Parson Everett rode over once or twice from 
Litchfield that next summer, to fetch Sylvia and to 
administer comfort to Hannah. He was a quaint, 
prim little gentleman, neat as any wren, but mild- 
mannered as wrens never are, and in a moderate 



132 AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 

way kindly and sympathetic. When the children 
had haled their lovely sister away to see their rustic 
possessions, Parson Everett would sit down in a 
high chair, lay aside his cocked hat, spread his silk 
pocket-handkerchief over his knees, and prepare to 
oonsole Hannah. 

" Mistress Perkins, these are trying times ; try 
ing times. There is a sound of a going in the tops 
of the mulberi-y-trees h-in ! Sea and waves roar 
ing of a truth h-m ! h-m ! I trust, Mistress Per 
kins, you submit to the Divine Will with meekness." 

" Well, I don't know," replied Hannah, with a 
queer little twinkle in her eye. " I don't believe I 
be as meek as Moses, parson. I should like things 
fixed different, to speak truth." 

" Dear me ! Dear me ! h-m ! h-m ! My good 
woman, the Lord reigneth. You must submit ; 
you must submit. You know it is the duty of a 
vessel of wrath to be broken to pieces, if it glori- 
fieth the Maker." 

" Well, mebbe 't is. I don't know much about 
that kind o' vessel. I 've got to submit because 
there ain't anything else to do, as I see. I can't 
say it goes easy not 'n' be honest ; but I try to 
look on the bright side, and to believe the Lord '11 
take care of my folks better 'n I could, even ef they 
was here." 

" H-m ! h-m ! Well," stammered the embar 
rassed parson, completely at his wits' end with this 
cheerful theology, " well, I hope it is grace that 
sustains you, Mistress Perkins, and not the vain 



AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 133 

elation of the natural man. The Lord is in his 
holy temple ; the earth is his footstool h-m ! " 
The parson struggled helplessly with a tangle of 
texts here ; but the right one seemed to fail him, 
till Hannah audaciously put it in : 

" Well, you know what it says about takin' care 
of sparrers, in the Bible, and how we was more val- 
erble than they be, a lot. That kind o' text comes 
home these times, I tell ye. You fetch a person 
down to the bed-rock, as Grandsir Penlyn used to 
say, and then they know where they be. And ef 
the Lord is reely the Lord of all, I expect He '11 
take care of all ; 'nd I don't doubt but what He is 
an' doos. So I can fetch up on that." 

Parson Everett heaved a deep sigh, put on his 
cocked hat, and blew his nose ceremonially with 
the silk handkerchief. Not that he needed to ; but 
as a sort of shaking off of the dust of responsibility 
and ending the conversation, which, if it was not 
heterodox on Hannah's part, certainly did not seem 
orthodox to him. Yet he was a good man, and 
served in the temple with all his placid little heart 
and neat little brain ; and of him the Master could 
say, rather than of many a larger nature : " He did 
what he could." Greatest of all eulogies ! However, 
he did not try to console her any more ; but con 
tented himself with the stiller spirits in his own par 
ish, who had grown up in and after his own fashion. 

Another dreadful winter settled down on Nepas- 
set township. There was food enough in the house 
and firewood in the shed ; but neither food nor fire 



134 AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 

seemed to assuage the terrible cold, and with de 
creased vitality decreased courage came to all. Hy 
gienics were an unforeseen mystery to people of that 
day. They did not know that nourishing food' is as 
good for the brain as for the muscles. They lived 
on potatoes, beets, beans, with now and then a bit 
of salt pork or beef boiled in the pot with the rest ; 
and their hearts failed, as their flesh did, with this 
sodden and monotonous diet. One ghastly night 
Hannah almost despaired. She held secret council 
with Dolly and Eben, while they inspected the 
potato-bin and the pork-barrel, as to whether it 
would not be best for them to break up and find 
homes elsewhere for the winter. Her father was 
old and feeble. He would be glad to have her 
with him, and Betty. The rest were all old enough 
to " do chores " for their board, and there were many 
families where he.lp was needed, both in Nepash 
and Litchfield, since every available man had gone 
to the war by this time. But while they talked a 
great scuffling and squawking in the woodhouse 
attracted the boys up-stairs. Joe seized the tongs 
and Diana the broomstick. An intruding weasel 
was pursued and slaughtered ; but not till two 
fowls, fat and fine, had been sacrificed by the in 
vader and the tongs together. The children were 
all hungry, with the exhaustion of the cold weather, 
and clamored to have these victims cooked for sup 
per. Nor was Hannah unmoved by the appeal. 
Her own appetite seconded. The savory stew came 
just in time. It roused them to new life and spir- 



AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 135 

its. Hannah regained courage, wondering how she 
could have lost heart so far, and said to Dolly, as 
they^jyashed up the supper-dishes : 

" I guess we '11 keep together, Dolly. It '11 be 
spring after a while, and we '11 stick it out to 
gether." * 

" I guess I would," answered Dolly. " And 
don't you b'lieve we should all feel better to kill off 
them fowls,^all but two ov three ? They 're mas 
ter hands to eat corn, and it does seem as though 
that biled hen done us all a sight o' good to-night. 
Jest hear them children ! " 

And it certainly was, as Hannah said, " musical 
to .hear 'em." Joe had a cornstalk fiddle, and Eben 
an old singing-book, which Diana read over his 
shoulder while she kept on knitting her blue sock ; 
and the three youngsters, Sam, Obed, and Betty, , 
with wide mouths and intent eyes, followed Di 
ana's " lining out " of that quaint hymn " The Old 
Israelites," dwelling with special gusto and power 
on two of the verses : 

" We are little, 't is true, 

And our numbers are few, 
And the sons of old Anak are tall ; 
But while I see a track 
I will never go back, 
But go on at the risk of my alL 

" The way is all new, 

As it opens to view, 
And behind is the foaming 1 Red Sea ; 
" So none now need to speak 

Of the onions and leeks 
Or to talk about garlics to me ! ' ' 



136 AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 

Hannah's face grew brighter still. " We '11 stay 
right here ! " she said, adding her voice to the sin 
gular old ditty with all her power : 

" What though some in the rear 

Preach up terror and fear, 
And complain of the trials they meet, 

Tho' the giants before 

With great fury do roar, 
I 'm resolved I can never retreat." 

And in this spirit, sustained, no doubt, by the 
occasional chickens, they lived the winter out, till 
blessed, beneficent spring came again, and brought 
news, great news, with it. Not from the army, 
though. There had been a post-rider in Nepash 
during the January thaw ; and he brought short 
letters only. There was about to be a battle, and 
there was no time to write more than assurances of 
health and good hopes for the future. Only once 
since had news reached them from that quarter. 
A disabled man from the Nepash company was 
brought home dying with consumption. Hannah 
felt almost ashamed to rejoice in the tidings he 
brought of John's welfare, when she heard his 
husky voice, saw his worn and ghastly countenance, 
and watched the suppressed agony in his wife's 
eyes. The words of thankfulness she wanted to 
speak would have been so many stabs in that wo 
man's breast. It was only when her eight children 
rejoiced in the hearing that she dared to be happy. 
But the other news was from Sylvia. She was 
promised to the schoolmaster in Litchfield. Only to 
think of it ! Our Sylvy ! 



AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 137 

Master Loomis had been eager to go to the war ; 
but his mother was a poor bed-rid woman, depen 
dent on him for support, and all the dignitaries of 
the town combined in advising and urging him to 
stay at home, for the sake of their children, as well 
as his mother. So at home he stayed, and fell into 
peril of heart, instead of life and limb, under the 
soft fire of Sylvia's eyes, instead of the enemy's 
artillery. Parson "Everett could not refuse his con 
sent, though he and madam were both loth to give 
up their sweet daughter. But since she and the 
youth seemed to be both of one mind about the 
matter, and he being a godly young man, of decent 
parentage and in a good way of earning his living, 
there was no more to be said. They would wait a 
year before thinking of marriage, both for better 
acquaintance and on account of the troubled times. 

" Mayhap the times will mend, sir," anxiously 
suggested the schoolmaster to Parson Everett. 

" I think not, I think not, Master Loomis. 
There is a great blackness of darkness in hand, 
the Philistines be upon us, and there is moving to 
and fro. Yea, behemoth lifted himself and shaketh 
his mane h-m ! ah ! h-m ! It is not a time for 
marrying and giving in marriage, for playing on 
sackbuts and dulcimers h-m ! " 

A quiet smile flickered round Master Loomis's 
mouth as he turned away, solaced by a shy, sweet 
look from Sylvia's limpid eyes, as he peeped into 
the keeping-room, where she sat with madam, on 
his way out. He could afford to wait a year for 



138 AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 

such a spring-blossom as that, surely. And wait 
he did, with commendable patience ; comforting 
his godly soul with the fact that Sylvia was spared 
meantime the daily tendence and care of a fretful 
old woman like his mother ; for, though Master 
Loomis was the best of sons, that did not blind him 
to the fact that the irritability of age and illness 
were fully developed in his mother, and he alone 
seemed to have the power of calming her. She 
liked Sylvia at first ; but became frantically jealous 
of her as soon as she suspected her son's attach 
ment. So the summer rolled away. Hannah and 
her little flock tilled their small farm and gathered 
plenteous harvest. Mindful of last year's experi 
ence, they raised brood after brood of chickens, 
and planted extra acres of corn for their feeding, 
so that when autumn came, with its vivid, splen 
did days, its keen winds and turbulent skies, the 
new chicken - yard, which the boys had worked at 
through the summer, with its wattled fence, its own 
tiny spring, and lofty covered roosts, swarmed with 
chickens, ducks, and turkeys. Many a dollar was 
brought home about Thanksgiving time for the 
fat fowls sold in Litchfield and Nepash ; but dol 
lars soon vanished in buying winter clothes for so 
many children, or, rather, in buying wool to spin 
and weave for them. Mahala Green, the village 
tailoress, came to fashion the garments, and the 
girls sewed them. Uncouth enough was their as 
pect ; but Fashion did not yet reign in Nepash, 
and, if they were warm, who cared for elegance ? 



AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 139 

Not Hannah's rosy, hearty, happy brood. They 
sang, and whistled, and laughed with a force and 
freedom that was kin to the birds and squirrels 
among whom they lived ; and Hannah's kindly, 
cheery face lit up as she heard them, while a half 
sigh told that her husband and her soldier boys 
were still wanting to her perfect contentment. 

At last they were all housed snugly for winter. 
The woodpile was larger than ever before, and all 
laid up in the shed, beyond which a rough shelter 
of chinked logs had been put up for the chickens, 
to which their roosts and nest-boxes, of coarse 
wicker, boards nailed together, hollow bark from 
the hemlock logs, even worn-out tin pails, had all 
been transferred. The cellar had been well banked 
from the outside, and its darksome cavern held 
good store of apples, pork, and potatoes. There 
was dried beef in the stairway, squashes in the 
cupboard, flour in the pantry, and the great gentle 
black cow in the barn was a wonderful milker. 
In three weeks Thanksgiving would come, and even 
Hannah's brave heart sank as she thought of her 
absent husband and boys ; and their weary faces 
rose up before her as she numbered over to herself 
her own causes for thankfulness, as if to say : " Can 
you keep Thanksgiving without us ? " Poor Han 
nah ! She did her best to set these thankless 
thoughts aside, but almost dreaded the coming fes 
tival. One night, as she sat knitting by the fire, 
a special messenger from Litchfield rode up to the 
door and brought stirring news. Master Loomis's 



140 AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 

mother was dead, and the master himself, seeing 
there was a new levy of troops, was now going to 
the war. But before he went there was to be a wed 
ding, and, in the good old fashion, it should be on 
Thanksgiving Day, and Madam Everett had bid 
den as many of Sylvy's people to the feast as would 
come. 

There was great excitement as Hannah read aloud 
the madam's note. The tribe of Perkins shouted 
for joy; but a sudden chill fell on them when 
mother spoke. 

" Now, children, hush up ! I want to speak my 
self, ef it 's a possible thing to git in a word edge 
ways. We can't all go, fust and foremost. 'T ain't 
noways possible." 

"Oh, mother! Why? Oh, do! Not go to 
Sylvy's wedding?" burst in the "infinite deep 
chorus " of youngsters. 

" No, you can't. There ain't no team in the 
county big enough to hold ye all, if ye squeeze ever 
so much. I 've got to go, for Sylvy 'd be beat out, 
if mother did n't come. And Dolly 's the oldest. 
She 's got a right to go." 

Loud protest was made against the right of pri 
mogeniture ; but mother was firm. 

" Says so in the Bible. Leastways, Bible folks 
always acted so. The first-born, ye know. Dolly 's 
goin', sure. Eben 's got to drive ; and I must take 
Obed. He 'd be the death of somebody, with his 
everlastin' mischief, if I left him to home. Mebbe 
I can squeeze in Betty, to keep him company. Joe 



AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 141 

and Sam and Dianner won't be more 'n enough to 
take care o' the cows, and chickens, and fires, and 
all. Likewise of each other." 

Sam set up a sudden howl at his sentence, and 
kicked the mongrel yellow puppy, who leaped on 
him to console him, till that long-suffering beast 
yelped in concert. 

Diana sniffed and snuffled, scrubbed her eyes 
with her checked apron, and rocked back and 
forth. 

" Now, stop it ! " bawled Joe. " For the land's 
sake, quit all this noise. We can't all on us go ; 'n' 
for my part, I don't want to. We '11 hev a weddin' 
of our own some day ! " and here he gave a sly look 
at Dolly, who seemed to understand it and blushed 
like an apple-blossom, while Joe went on : " Then 
we '11 all stay to 't, I tell ye, 'nd have a right down 
old country time." 

Mother had to laugh. 

" So you shall, Joe, and dance ' Money Musk ' 
all night, if you want to, same as you did to the 
corn-huskin\ Now, let 's see. Betty, she 's got 
that chintz gown that was your Sunday best, Dolly, 
the flowered one, you know, that Dianner out- 
grovved. We must fix them lawn ruffles into 't ; 
and there 's a blue ribbin laid away in my chest o' 
drawers, that '11 tie her hair. It 's dreadful lucky 
we 've got new shoes all round : and Obed's coat 
and breeches is as good as new, ef they be made 
out of his pa's weddin' suit. That 's the good o' 
good cloth. It '11 last most forever. Joe hed 'em 



142 AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 

first, then Sam wore 'em quite a spell, and they cut 
over jest right for Oby. My black paduasoy can be 
fixed up, I guess. But, my stars ! Dolly, what hev 
you got ? " 

" Well, mother, you know I hain't got a real good 
gown. There 's the black lutestring petticoat Sylvy 
fetched me, two years ago ; but there ain't any 
gown to it. We calculated I could wear that linsey 
jacket to meeting, under my coat ; but 't would n't 
do rightly for a weddin'." 

" That 's gospel truth. You can't wear that any 
how. You 've got to hev somethin'. 'T won't do to 
go to Sylvy's weddin' in linsey woolsey ; but I don't 
believe there 's more 'n two hard dollars in the house. 
There 's a few Continentals ; but I don't count on 
them. Joe, you go over to the mill fust thing in 
the morning and ask Sylvester to lend me his old 
mare a spell to-morrer, to ride over to Nepash, to 
the store." 

" Why don't ye send Doll ? " asked Joe, with 
a wicked glance at the girl, that set her blushing 
again. 

" Hold your tongue, Joseph, 'n' mind me. It 's 
bedtime now ; but I '11 wake ye up airly," energet 
ically remarked Hannah. And next day, equipped 
in cloak and hood, she climbed the old mare's fat 
sides and jogged off on her errand ; and by noon- 
mark was safe and sound home again, looking a 
little perplexed, but by no means cast down. 

" Well, Dolly," said she, as soon as cloak and 
hood were laid aside, " there 's the beautifulest 



AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 143 

piece of chintz over to the store you ever see, 
jest enough for a gown. It 's kind o' buff-colored 
ground, flowered all over with roses, deep red 
roses, as nateral as life. Squire Dart would n't 
take no money for 't. He 's awful sharp about 
them new bills. Sez they ain't no more 'n corn- 
husks. Well, we hain't got a great lot of 'em, so 
there 's less to lose, and some folks will take 'em ; 
but he '11 let me have the chintz for 'leven yards o' 
soldier's cloth, blue, ye know, like what we sent 
pa and the boys. And I spent them two silver 
dollars on a white gauze neck-kercher and a piece 
of red satin ribbin for ye, for I 'm set on that 
chintz. Now, hurry up 'nd fix the loom right off. 
The web 's ready, then we '11 card the wool. I '11 
lay ye a penny we '11 have them 'leven yards wove 
by Friday. To-day 's Tuesday, Thanksgiving comes 
a Thursday week, an' ef we have the chintz by sun 
down a Saturday there '11 be good store of time for 
Mahaly Green and you to make it afore Wednes 
day night. We '11 hev a kind of a Thanksgiving, 
after all. But I wisht your pa " - The sentence 
ended in Hannah's apron at her eyes, and Dolly 
looked sober ; but in a minute she dimpled and 
brightened, for the pretty chintz gown was more to 
her than half a dozen costly French dresses to a 
girl of to-day. But a little cloud suddenly put out 
the dimples. 

" But, mother, if somebody else should buy it ? " 

" Oh, they won't. I 've fixed that. I promised 

to fetch the cloth inside of a week, and Squire Dart 



144 AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 

laid away the chintz for me till that time. Fetch 
the wool, Dolly, before you set up the web, so 's I 
can start." 

The wool was carded, spun, washed, and put into 
the dye-tub, one "run" of yarn that night; and 
another spun and washed by next day's noon, for 
the stuff was to be checked, and black wool needed 
no dyeing. Swiftly hummed the wheel, merrily 
flew the shuttle, and the house steamed with inodor 
ous dye ; but nobody cared for that, if the cloth 
could only be finished. And finished it was, the 
full measure and a yard over ; and on Saturday 
morning Sylvester's horse was borrowed again, and 
Hannah came back from the village beaming with 
pleasure, and bringing besides the chintz a yard of 
real cushion lace, to trim the ruffles for Dolly's 
sleeves, for which she had bartered the over yard of 
cloth and two dozen fresh eggs. Then even busier 
times set in. Mahala Green had already arrived, 
for she was dressmaker as well as tailoress, and 
was sponging and pressing over the black padua- 
soy that had once been dove-colored and was Han 
nah's sole piece of wedding finery, handed down 
from her grandmother's wardrobe at that. A dark 
green grosgraiu petticoat and white lawn ruffles 
made a sufficiently picturesque attire for Hannah, 
whose well-silvered hair set off her still sparkling 
eyes and clear, healthy skin. She appeared in this 
unwonted finery on Thanksgiving morning to her 
admiring family, having added a last touch of 
adornment by a quaint old jet necklace, that glit- 



AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 145 

tered on the pure lawn neck-kerchief with as good 
effect as a chain of diamonds and much more fit 
ness. Betty, in her striped blue-and-white chintz, 
a clean dimity petticoat, and a blue ribbon round 
her short brown curls, looked like a cabbage rose 
bud, so sturdy and wholesome and rosy that no 
more delicate symbol suits her. 

Obed was dreadful in the old-fashioned costume 
of coat and breeches, ill-fitting and shiny with wear, 
and his freckled face and round shock head of tan- 
colored hair thrown into full relief by a big, square 
collar of coarse tatten lace, laid out on his shoul 
ders like a barber's towel, and illustrating the great 
red ears that stood out at right angles above it. 
But Obed was only a boy. He was not expected 
to be more than clean and speechless ; and, to tell 
the truth, Eben, being in the hobbledehoy stage of 
boyhood, gaunt, awkward, and self-sufficient, 
rather surpassed his small brother in unpleasant 
aspect and manner. But who would look at the 
boys when Dolly stood beside them, as she did now, 
tall and slender, with the free grace of an untram- 
meled figure, her small head erect, her eyes dark 
and soft as a deer's, neatly clothed feet (not too 
small for her height) peeping from under the black 
lutestring petticoat, and her glowing brunette com 
plexion set off by the picturesque buff-and-garnet 
chintz gown, while her round throat and arms were 
shaded by delicate gauze and snowy lace, and about 
her neck lay her mother's gold beads, now and then 
tangling in the heavy black curls that, tied high on 



146 AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 

her head with a garnet ribbon, still dropped in rich 
luxuriance to her trim waist. 

The family approved of Dolly, no doubt, though 
their phrases of flattery were as homely as heartfelt. 

" Orful slick-lookin', ain't she ? " confided Joe 
to Eben ; while sinful Sam shrieked out : " Land 
o' Goshen ! ain't our Dolly smart ? Sha'n't I fetch 
Sylvester over ? " 

For which I regret to state Dolly smartly boxed 
his ears. 

But the pung was ready, and Sam's howls had to 
die out uncomforted. With many parting charges 
from Hannah about the fires and the fowls, the 
cow, the hasty -pudding, already put on for its long 
boil, and the turkey that hung from a string in 
front of the fire, and must be watched well, since 
it was the Thanksgiving dinner, the " weddingers," 
as Joe called them, were well packed in with blan 
kets and hot stones and set off on their long drive. 

The day was fair and bright, the fields of snow 
purely dazzling ; but the cold was fearful, and, in 
spite of all their wraps, the keen winds that whis 
tled over those broad hilltops where the road lay 
seemed to pierce their very bones, and they were 
heartily glad to draw up, by twelve o'clock, at the 
door of the parsonage and be set before a blazing 
fire, and revived with sundry mugs of foaming and 
steaming flip, made potent with a touch of old peach 
brandy ; for in those ancient days, even in parson 
ages, the hot poker knew its office and sideboards 
were not in vain. 



AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 147 

There was food also for the exhausted guests, 
though the refection was slight and served infor 
mally in the kitchen corner, for the ceremonial 
Thanksgiving dinner was to be deferred till after 
the wedding. And as soon as all were warmed 
and refreshed they were ushered into the great 
parlor, where a Turkey carpet, amber satin cur 
tains, spider-legged chairs and tables, and a vast 
carved sofa, cushioned also with amber, made a 
regal and luxurious show in the eyes of our rustic 
observers. 

But when S} 7 lVy came in with the parson, who 
could look at furniture ? Madam Everett had 
lavished her taste and her money on the lovely 
creature, as if she were her own daughter ; for she 
was almost as dear to that tender, childless soul. 
The girl's lustrous gold-brown hair was dressed 
high upon her head in soft puffs and glittering 
curls, and a filmy thread-lace scarf pinned across it 
with pearl-headed pins. Her white satin petticoat 
showed its rich lustre under a lutestring gown of 
palest rose, brocaded with silver sprigs and looped 
with silver ribbon and pink satin roses. Costly 
lace clung about her neck and arms, long kid gloves 
covered her little hands and wrists and met the 
delicate sleeve-ruffles, and about her white throat a 
great pink topaz clasped a single string of pearls. 
Hannah could scarce believe her eyes. Was this 
her Sylvy ? she who even threw Madam Everett, 
with her velvet dress, powdered hair, and Mechlin 
laces, quite into the background I 



148 AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 

" I did not like it, mammy dear," whispered 
Sylvy, as she clung round her astonished mother's 
neck. " I wanted a muslin gown ; but madam had 
laid this by long ago, and I could not thwart or 
grieve her, she is so very good to me." 

" No more you could, Sylvy. The gown is amaz 
ing fine, to be sure ; but as long as my Sylvy 's in 
side of it 1 won't gainsay the gown. It ain't a speck 
too pretty for the wearer, dear." And Hannah 
gave her another hug. The rest scarce dared to 
touch that fair face, except Dolly, who threw her 
arms about her beautiful sister, with little thought 
of her garments, but a sudden passion of love and 
regret sending the quick blood to her dark brows 
and wavy hair in a scarlet glow. 

Master Loomis looked on with tender eyes. He 
felt the usual masculine conviction that nobody 
loved Sylvy anywhere near as much as he did ; 
but it pleased him to see that she was dear to her 
family. The parson, however, abruptly put an 
end to the scene. 

" H-m ! my dear friends, let us recollect our 
selves. There is a time for all things. Yea, earth 
yieldeth her increase h-m ! The Lord ariseth to 
shake visibly the earth ahem ! Sylvia, will you 
stand before the sophy ? Master Lumrnis on the 
right side. Let us pray." 

But even as he spoke the words a great knock 
ing pealed through the house ; the brass lion's head 
on the front door beat a reveille loud and long. 
The parson paused, and Sylvia grew whiter than 



AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 149 

before ; while Decius, the Parson's factotum, a 
highly respectable old negro (who, with his wife 
and daughter, sole servants of the house, had stolen 
in to see the ceremony), ambled out to the vestibule 
in most undignified haste. There came sounds of 
dispute, much tramping of boots, rough voices, and 
quick words; then a chuckle from Decius, the parlor 
door burst open, and three bearded, ragged, eager 
men rushed in upon the little company. 

There was a moment's pause of wonder and 
doubt, then a low cry from Hannah, as she flew 
into her husband's arms ; and in another second 
the whole family had closed around the father and 
brothers, and for once the hardy, stern, reticent 
New England nature, broken up from its founda 
tions, disclosed its depths of tenderness and fidel 
ity. There were tears, choking sobs, cries of joy. 
The madam held her laced handkerchief to her 
eyes, with real need of it; Master Loomis choked 
for sympathy, and the parson blew his nose on the 
ceremonial bandanna like the trumpet of a cavalry 
charge. 

" Let us pray ! " said he, in a loud but broken 
voice ; and, holding fast to the back of the chair, he 
poured out his soul and theirs before the Lord, 
with all the fervor and the fluency of real feeling. 
There was no stumbling over misapplied texts now, 
no awkward objections in his throat, but only glow 
ing Bible words of thankfulness and praise and joy. 
And every heart was uplifted and calm as they 
joined in the Amen. 



150 Atf OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 

John's story was quickly told. Their decimated 
regiment was disbanded, to be reformed of fresh 
recruits, and a long furlough given to the faithful 
but exhausted remnant. They had left at once for 
home, aud their shortest route lay through Litch- 
field. Night was near when they reached the 
town ; but they must needs stop to get one glimpse 
of Sylvy and tidings from home, for fear lay upon 
them lest there might be trouble there which they 
knew not of. So they burst in upon the wedding. 
But Master Loornis began to look uneasy. Old 
Dorcas had slipped out, to save the imperiled din 
ner, and Pokey, the maid (n6e Pocahontas !), could 
be heard clinking glass and silver and pushing 
about chairs ; but the happy family were still ab 
sorbed in each other. 

" Mister Everett ! " said the madam, with dignity, 
and the little minister trotted rapturously over to 
her chair, to receive certain low orders. 

" Yes, verily, yes h-m ! A my friends, we 
are assembled in this place this evening " 

A sharp look from madam recalled him to the 
fact that this was not a prayer-meeting. 

"A that is, yes, of a truth our purpose this 
afternoon was to " 

" That 's so ! " energetically put in Captain John. 
Right about face ! Form ! " and the three Conti 
nentals sprung to their feet and assumed their po 
sition, while Sylvy and Master Loomis resumed 
theirs, a flitting smile in Sylvia's tearful eyes mak 
ing a very rainbow. 



AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 151 

So the ceremony proceeded to the end, and was 
wound up with a short prayer, concerning which 
Captain Perkins irreverently remarked to his wife, 
some days after : 

" Parson smelt the turkey, sure as shootin', Han 
nah. He shortened up so 'mazin' quick on that 
prayer. I tell you I was glad on 't. I knew how 
he felt. f I could ha' ate a wolf myself." 

Then they all moved in to the dinner-table, a 
strange group, from Sylvia's satin and pearls to the 
ragged fatigue-dress of her father and brothers ; 
but there was no help for that now, and really it 
troubled nobody. The shade of anxiety in mad 
am's eye was caused only by a doubt as to the 
sufficiency of her supplies for three unexpected and 
ravenous guests ; but a look at the mighty turkey, 
the crisp roast pig, the cold ham, the chicken pie, 
and the piles of smoking vegetables, with a long 
vista of various pastries, apples, nuts, and pitchers 
of cider on the buffet, and an inner consciousness 
of a big Indian pudding, for twenty-four hours 
simmering in the pot over the fire, reassured her, 
and perhaps heartened up the parson, for after a 
long grace he still kept his feet and added, with a 
kindly smile : 

" Brethren and friends, you are heartily welcome. 
Eat and be glad, for seldom hath there been such 
came and need to keep a Thanksgiving ! " 

And they all said Amen ! 



HOPSON'S CHOICE. 

" SAY, Josiah, let 's get up a fam'ly gatherin', 
same as other folks do." t 

" I 'd like to see a Hopson gatherin' ! Folks 
would say 't was an ant-hill on a bender, Ozias. 
We 're all too little. 'T won't do to make our 
shortcomin's public, as you may say." 

" Well, I 'd ruther be little and good than be an 
Irish giant. I don't never hanker after between- 
iiess. It goes quite a ways to be somethin' nobody 
else is. Now there 's them Schuylers, the grandees 
over to Newton. They do say and I guess it 's 
so that they 're always a-talkin' pompious about 
the ' Schuyler nub,' a kind of a bunion, like, that 
grows on to the outside of their hands. Why, 
they think the world on 't, because the Schuylers 
all hev hed it as long as the memory of man en- 
dureth not to the contrary. I 'd jest as lives be 
little as hev a nub." 

" Do tell ! Well, Ozy, folks is folksy, ain't 
they ? Come to think on 't, there 's a tribe over 
to Still River they call the Sandy Steeles, all of 
'em red-heads. It 's pop'lar to call 'em sandy, but 
you could warm your hands real well, the coldest 
day in winter, to any crop amongst 'em. Carrots 
ain't nowhere ; it 's coals." 



HOPSOX'S CHOICE. 153 

" Anyhow, 'Siah, if we are little, we 're spry, 
and that 's half the battle. Moreover, there have n't 
none of us been hanged, nor put into state's-prison, 
nor yet seen the inside of no jail." 

" Not yet," said Josiah. 

Ozias turned and looked at him with a twinkle 
in his deep-set eye. 

" Expectin' on 't, be ye ? " 

Josiah laughed. 

" I don't know as I be ; but life 's chock-full of 
onexpectedness. There ; there 's the meetin' bell. 
Come over to-night, will ye, after sundown. We '11 
talk this here matter over deliberate then. The 
idee kinder takes hold of me." 

" Yes, I '11 drop in. 'Mandy '11 be real willin' 
bo get rid of me for a spell. Ye see, Obed's first 
wife's boy 's to home, and it seems as though ho 
vvas a-thinkin' about sparkin' my girl. I don't 
tnow. It's pecooliar, anyway, how quick girls 
rets to be women-folks. I never see the beat on 't. 
T is snip, snap, so to speak. Makes me think of 
D riest Hawes's favoright hymn, or one line on 't, 
hat he used to come down on real sollum : 

! 

' The creturs look, how old they grow I ' ' 

" Hope you don't fuller that kotation out en- 
ire," said Josiah, " next line bein', 

' And wait their fiery doom.' " 

Ozias looked at him with a face of the demurest 
an. 

" Come along," he said. " 'Mandy's feller ain't 
ne of the Still River Steeles." 




154 HOPSON'S CHOICE. 

Josiah tried to solemnize his face, but barely 
succeeded, as they entered the church door. 

Hop Meadow was a little village in one of our 
New England States, lying in a tiny green valley 
shut in by low rolling hills, patched here and there 
with yellow grainfields, squares of waving grass, 
or crimson clover fragrant as the breath of Eden ; 
and threaded by a big noisy brook that pursued its 
joyful way to the great river rolling but a mile or 
two beyond the valley, yet quite out of sight of its 
inhabitants. In this fertile and sunny spot, when 
New England was first settled, Andrew Hopson, 
yeoman, from Kent, Old England, had staked out 
his share of land, and built his hut ; he had mar 
ried, shortly after, his second cousin, and in due 
time a goodly family of ten children gathered 
about them. Cousins, too, came over and settled 
beside Andrew, and more distant relatives were 
gradually persuaded to find homes in the new 
country; so, partly for the sake of the numerous 
Hopson s, and partly in memory of the goodly 
Kentish hopfields which they hoped one day to 
emulate, the village was called Hop Meadow. It 
was a peculiarity of the Hopson family that almost 
without exception its members were small in body. 
Not a man, for years after their emigration, as for 
unknown years before it, reached a height of over 
five feet two ; most of them ignored the inches ; 
and here and there a real dwarf carried the family 
specialty to excess. 

But if Nature had given them little bodily pres- 






HOPSON'S CHOICE. 155 

ence, they all had keen wits, humor, good temper, 
and good principles, except exceptions. 

Josiah and Ozias were Hopaons by name, but 
there were Browns among the cousinry, and here 
and there a Hopson girl had married " outside," 
and brought her tall husband home to Thanksgiv 
ing occasionally, half proud and half ashamed of 
him. There was a tradition in the family that the 
first Hopson, that Andrew who put up his log hut 
in the sunny intervale beside Bright Brook, had 
left Old England quite as much from pique as 
principle. He had become a Puritan, no doubt 
from deep conviction, but there was only the par 
ish church for him to worship in, and the old rec 
tor was a stanch adherent of Church and King. 
When Parson Vivyan heard of the emigrating se- 
ceders of Leyden he felt afraid that Andrew Hop- 
son might cast in his lot with those fanatics ; and 
having a kindly feeling for the small yeoman, 
whom he had christened, and hoped to marry, he 
exhorted him in season and out of season on the 
folly of such rebellion against King and Church. 
Andrew resented the interference, for he had nei 
ther thought nor talked of leaving his goodly 
farm ; and he grew tired, too, of the parson's one 
theme of conversation. He evaded him every 
where, and showed all the quick wit of his race in 
those evasions ; like a drop of mercury he departed 
fiom under Mr. Vivyan's touch and was off. So 
that worthy man took unworthy advantage of his 
position and preached a long sermon on the text, 



156 HOPSOX'S CHOICE. 

'* The conies are a feeble folk, and dwell in the 
clefts of the rock," in which discourse he took oc 
casion to set out with humiliating detail what would 
naturally be the fate of a poor little creature like 
the cony if it forsook its home and friends in the 
rocks that sheltered it, and went out to wandering' 
and strife with wolves and foxes. 

The natural history was correct, but the applica 
tion was so pointed, when Parson Vivyan drew out 
at length the analogy, and portrayed the fate of the 
man unfitted by nature for wars and hardships who 
should leave his neighbors and his native land for 
the sake of a misguided and heretical opinion, that 
not even the proverbial good-nature of the Hop- 
sons could abide it. 

Andrew took fire at once. He made immediate 
preparation to sell his farm, a hereditary free 
hold, and having obtained Prudence's consent to 
follow him when he should have a home prepared 
for her, he gathered his household goods together 
and set sail for the New World, where, as he ex 
pressed himself to Parson Vivyan, " there be no 
prelatical priests to vex the soul, nor yet the un 
godly kingdom of a carnal king." 

That Sunday evening on which our story opens, 
a bright June moonlight night, Ozias, avoiding the 
youth who came slowly and slyly to the front door, 
which stood hospitably open, with evident intent 
of " sparking," betook himself to Josiah's house, 
and perfected the plan for a Hopson reunion. 

There were many letters to write, for the tribe 



NS CHOICE. 157 



had branched far, if sparsely. There were two 
Browns in Ohio and three Hopsons in Illinois, and 
then three generations ago a certain Mark Hopson 
had settled on a stony piece of land in Vermont, 
to dig and sell iron, and called the village which 
sprang up about his furnace, Hopyard ; but so unfit 
was the name when that cleft in the hills became 
strewed with slag-heaps, and overshadowed with 
black smoke, that a scoffing stranger had said in 
the tavern one night, " Better call it the Devil's 
Hopyard, I should say." This ill name had fas 
tened itself firmly on the little cluster of houses, 
and though the Hopsons themselves swarmed 
therein, and looked like a troop of gnomes when 
ever there was a run of iron and they skipped 
about the moulding beds in the lurid firelight, yet 
outsiders were shy of settling there, and told 
quaint stories of the tiny tribe who occupied the 
land, and delved, smelted, and hauled pig-iron with 
an energy that seemed to make up for strength. 

It was currently reported that in the early days 
of the Devil's Hopyard a tin-peddler from " be 
low " stumbled on this small village and, trying to 
catch some of the little people for purposes of ex 
hibition, chased a dozen of them into the bung-hole 
of an empty barrel, and triumphantly proceeded to 
stop up the aperture and secure his prize ; but 
while he pounded at the bung the agile creatures 
made their escape through the spigot-hole, and de 
rided him with shrill laughter and mocking ges 
tures from the top of a barn, whither they had 



158 HOPSON'S CHOICE. 

climbed on a wild grapevine. Peddler or not, 
there were plenty of Hopsons there now. And then 
there was Pamela Bunnell in remote parts of Iowa, 
who had married out of the clan ; and Ozias 
Brown, who had settled in Pennsylvania ; and Ma- 
rinus Hopson, on Cape Cod ; and Tertius Hop- 
son, in Quebec ; and more, whom time forbids me 
to chronicle, but who all received an invitation 
to this Hopson gathering ; and almost all meant to 
come. 

Then began a stir in Hop Meadow. There was 
a big tent to be hired and pitched on the green 
an even bit of turf with some fine elms about it, 
right in front of the church and there were spare 
rooms to clean and dust ; and the whole tavern 
was engaged to afford lodgings if private rooms 
overflowed ; and such baking, boiling, stewing, fry 
ing, and other culinary performances set in that 
one would have thought the ten lost tribes of Is 
rael, all in a famished condition, were coming for a 
month's stay, and needed unlimited pie, cake, poul 
try, and pickles, except that there were hams, 
boiled, roasted, and chopped or sliced for sand 
wiches, prominent in every house ; and hams are 
pork ! In all these preparations nobody was more 
busied than Prudence Hopson, Widow Polly Hop- 
son's daughter and only child. Bezaleel Hopson, 
her father, had kept the " store " in Hop Meadow 
forty years, when he died, and having married late 
in life, left behind him this little five-year-old 
daughter, and plenty of " means " to console his 



HOPSON'S CHOICE. 159 

wailing widow, who was an " outsider," and per 
haps attracted her fat and jolly husband by her 
extreme difference from any of his kindred. 

Paulina Flower had been pretty in a certain 
way : long curling yellow hair, limp and flabby 
even in its trailing ringlets, languishing blue eyes, 
a white skin, narrow, low forehead, and long chin, 
seemed to express and adorn her manners and cus 
toms with peculiar fitness. 

Nobody but the Hopsons would ever have called 
her Polly ; to " her folks " she was " Pawliny," 
nothing less ; but Bezaleel could n't stand three 
syllables, so he had followed the custom of his race, 
and tried to make the best of his wife's melancholy 
while he lived. 

" She beats all," said Ozias to Josiah, his cousin 
and special crony. " I never see a woman who 
likes to howl so well in my life ; she 's forever 
a-spillin' salt-water. She 'd oughter keep clus to 
a pork-barrel, so 's to save brine. I b'lieve she 'd 
set down an' cry to the heavenly gates, ef ever she 
got there, to think the' wa'n't a fiery chari't sent 
down to fetch her." 

" Well," answered the more slow-minded Josiah, 
" some folks is made so ; nothin' suits 'em, never. 
Their eggs gets addled second day out, and if they 
have n't really got a thing to cry for, they '11 do it 
a-puppus. She 's one o' them that likes to cry 
jest as well as you do to larf, Ozy. It ain't real 
comfortin' to other folks to see 'em, and I will say 
I 've hankered some to give Polly a hidiu'; 't would 



160 HOPSON'S CHOICE. 

do her solid good ter have somethin' real to cry 
for. But you can't tune another man's wife no 
how." 

" That 's so," sadly responded Ozias. 

But Prudence " little Prudy," as everybody 
called her, borrowing her title from the most ut 
terly delightful children's books ever written 
was a thorough Hopson. 

When her father died she was but five years 
old, and though she mourned him heartily and 
sincerely, it was as children mourn, with brief tears 
and tender remembrance, but a blessed incompe 
tence of understanding what loss, death, separation, 
really mean. She saw her mother no more, if no 
less, tearful ; she could not be more doleful and 
foilorn under any loss than she had been in the 
daily fashion of her life ; and Prudy was as differ 
ent from Polly as was possible, a gay, sparkling, 
happy creature, everybody's pet and darling. If 
she had lost one father she had twenty uncles and 
cousins ready to protect and indulge her, and she 
grew up to womanhood as nearly spoiled as her 
sweet honest nature would allow. But who ever 
was proof against those beautiful brown eyes, red 
and saucy lips, that tossing, wavy, shining hair, 
never in order, but never anything but exquisite in 
its dark shadows and golden lights ? 

Who could resist that coaxing, caressing, beguil 
ing voice, a voice that could soften with pity 
and sparkle with mischief? Who did not clamor 
for the help of those deft and taper fingers that 



HOPSON'S CHOICE. 161 

were always ready and able to do whatever was 
asked of them ? It was Prudy who came to the 
front now in all the adornments of preparation. 
She made the long wreaths of ground pine and 
coral pine for festooning the tent and the church, 
and fastened them up under knots of goldenrod and 
bosses of purple aster, for the Hopsou gathering 
was early in September. She arranged the baskets 
of fruit that adorned the table, so that pink and 
purple and amber grapes lay heaped together on 
vine-leaves, and the profusion of green and gold 
pears was set off with the earliest scarlet foliage of 
the maple and deep maroon of lingering beet 
leaves. 

She made the wonderful ornaments of stars and 
roses and architectural devices that would have 
adorned the countless pies had not the oven baked 
them out of all shape. And it was Prudy who 
manufactured the whitest silver cake and the clear 
est jelly that made contrast of ivory and ruby be 
side the grosser aliments of cold ham and roast 
turkey. 

Her mother looked on and shook her melancholy 
head when Prudy dragged that unwilling parent to 
see what had been done. 

" Yes, I dare say ; it 's pretty, I suppose. But, 
oh, I can't help a-mournin' to think how that your 
pa would ha' relished it. This world 's a fleetin' 
^how, Prudence. Ef you 'd ha' ben through what 
I have you would n't take no great of int'rest in 
these trifliu' things." 



162 HOPSON'S CHOICE. 

Prudy laughed ; her father had been dead a 
thousand years to her ; and her mother's melan 
choly moans had no more significance to her than 
the wind in the spout. 

" Well, mammy, they 're pretty, anyway, and I 
expect most of these things will be a fleetin' show 
when a crowd of hungry Hopsons get hold of 'em. 
Who 's coming to our house to stay ? do you 
know yet ? " 

" I should ha' liked to have Pamely Bunnell and 
her boy, but she was bespoke by Ozias's folks. I 
used to know her some before I was married, for 
she married Bunnell when he lived to our place, 
and while she lived here a spell I come here to 
visit, and then I see your pa. Oh, I remember of 
it well, the fust time I see him ; 't was to a meetin' 
of the sons an' daughters of Massachusetts. Josiah 
he 'd put in the paper that ' all who are or were 
born in Massachusetts is expected to attend th' an- 
nooal meetin' in Clark Hall.' You see, Josiah 's 
wife she come from Hingham ; and well do I rec'- 
lect he got up that evenin' and said the ' highest 
"gaol" of his ambition hed always been to marry 
a Massachusetts girl.' Some did n't really under 
stand what he meant, but Pamely she said he 'd 
got the wrong word ; Josiah 's a little mixy, always 
an' forever was and will be ; and your pa he bu'st 
out laughin' behind me, and I looked round and 
see him. He had n't no business there, only 't he 
provided the provisions, and he 'd jest fetched in 
a pot of pickles 't somebody VI forgot, and Oh ! 



HOPSON'S CHOICE. 163 

I 've kinder run off from Pamely. Well, I can't 
hev her : she writ to Ozias for to have her place in 
his house. I s'pose 't is more cherk up there than 
't is to a solitary widder's like me. One that 's 
seen so much 'fliction and is so cast down into the 
valley of mournin' as I be ain't good company. 
And jest my luck ! me that never could abide 
children they've sent Marinus's people to us 
seven small children, and she 's weakly. Oh 
land ! how be I to bear it ? " 

Prudy laughed again ; she could n't help it ; the 
idea of seven children secretly delighted her sun 
shiny soul. What romps they would have ! W r hat 
corn-poppings ! she would rub up the old warm 
ing-pan to-day; and there were five kittens in the 
barn ! 

Polly did not betray her own secret hopes to her 
daughter. Like many languid, selfish, sloppy, 
mournful people, she had a certain cunning or sly 
ness which tended to amuse her, and sometimes 
other people, when it did not vex them ! She had 
purposely delayed asking Pamela Bunnell, who was 
a widow with one son, to her house, lest the son 
should take a fancy to Prudy. 

Mrs. Polly did not intend to lose her girl if she 
could help it : no servant could or would so neatly 
curl her lank ringlets, that, threaded with the gray 
of forty-nine years, still dropped absurdly down her 
back ; nor would any other woman wait on her so 
handily and cheerfully on the frequent days when 
she chose to keep her bed, and must be fed with the 



164 HOPSOX'S CHOICE. 

daintiest morsels that Prudy knew just how to pre 
pare. 

To be sure, Hopson Bunnell, Pamela's boy, was 
" well spoke of " by such of the clan as had heard of 
him, and had some property of his own, beside a re 
version of the great prairie farm his mother super 
intended with all the energy and skill a bigger 
woman could have brought to bear on the prem 
ises ; but for all this Mrs. Polly cared nothing. 
Her listless self-absorption would have come be 
tween Prudy and the best match possible, so she 
had never asked Pamela who expected it of her 
to come to her house, but had gently hinted to 
the Reception- Committee of the occasion that she 
could take a large family if they were mostly chil 
dren, and could be crowded two or three in a 
chamber. Prudy had her own intimate friend, of 
course, in the village, for though there were but 
few young girls in Hop Meadow, the Hopsons hav 
ing a way of marrying young, there were a few, 
and Lizzy Brown was the best and prettiest, next 
to Prudy, a sober, steady, discreet maiden, with 
brown hair and blue eyes, who looked at Prudence 
as a robin might at an oriole, but did not treat her 
at all as the one bird treats the other, but held her in 
all adoration, and served her with earnest affection. 

At last the day of the Hopson reunion arrived, 
one of those soft, golden, gorgeous days in au 
tumn when the air is quiet, the heavens serene, 
and the earth steeped in dreams and rainbows ; 
but the Hopsons were not still ; not at all. They 



ON-S CHOICE. 165 



swarmed like troops of good-sized fairies through the 
wide streets, laughing, shaking hands, chattering, 
singing, full of welcome and cheer, slight, airy 
girls ; rounder but still tidy matrons, with dolls of 
babies in their arms ; fat little men, laughing and 
joking with every new-comer, the only woeful 
face being Mrs. Polly's ; while Prudy, in the dainti 
est white gown, with a big bunch of red roses at 
her belt, was threading the crowd everywhere, mar 
shaling the guests to their several lodgings, smiling 
at every child, coquetting with every old man, and 
turning a bewitching cold shoulder on the youths 
who buzzed about her like contending bumble-bees 
on a Canada thistle, prickliest and most delicate of 
its tribe. 

But one of the race, Pamela's boy, towered far 
above the rest, to his own disgust and their amuse 
ment. Hopson Bunnell was all of six feet in his 
stockings, powerful, athletic, and handsome, with 
dark keen eyes, firm lips, a shock of deep brown 
curls, and a silky beard of darkness that showed 
well against the cool healthiness of his smooth if 
sunburned skin. 

" I know he 's awful tall," said Pamela, depre- 
?atingly, to Ozias, "and I've set my heart on his 
narryin' one of our folks. Seems as though Provi- 
lence interfered serious with my plans. The' ain't 
10 girls anywhere near to us, and them that 's near- 
>st Hopson don't seem to fellowship ; but I never 
eemed to sense his tallness as I do now, 'mongst 
he rest of us." 



1C6 HOPSON'S CHOICE. 

" Well," answered Ozias, " 't ain't always best to 
make no great of plans about folks's marryin' ; 
they gener'lly do as they darn please about that, 
I 've observed. Providence hes got severial other 
things to do, I guess, than makin' matches. I 'm a 
freewill Baptist, so fur as that comes in, now I tell 

ye." 

" Oh my ! " exclaimed Pamela. " I don't ex 
pect to settle nothing, nor I have n't said a word 
to Hopson, you better believe. I was only speakin' 
of it to you, Ozy, out of the fullness of my heart, 
as you may say, accordin' to Scripter." 

" Well, I sha'n't tell ; and 't ain't best to put a 
finger into sech pies. Natur is pecooliar, Pamely ; 
you can't never tell how it '11 work ; so I calc'late 
always to leave out the bung for fear of a bu'st. 
There 's my 'Mandy, now. Mariar bein' dead ever 
Bence the girl was ten year old, I 've been consider- 
'ble pestered what to do with her ; but fin'lly I cow- 
eluded to see 't she read the Bible right along and 
said her prayers punctooal, and then I let her 
went. She had her ups an' downs, but she 's come 
up about as good as the average ; and now she 's 
got to keepin' company with a pretty clever feller, 
and she '11 be off my mind afore long." 

Hopson Bunnell, all unconscious of his mother's 
wish in his behalf, was meantime enjoying himself 
mightily ; he recovered from his awkwardness very 
fast, turning the laugh on his kindred in various 
ways, and dangling after Prudy like an amiable 
giant in the toils of a fairy queen. She seemed to 



HOPSON'S CHOICE. 167 

this tall, handsome fellow something daintier than a 
flower, and more bewitching than a bird ; he never 
tired of seeing that graceful little figure waiting on 
the tables, coaxing the old men with dainty morsels, 
filling the boys with good things, hollow though 
they were " down to their boots," as she declared, 
being unused to boys ; or playing with the little 
girls, who all adored her. But to Hopson himself 
Prudy was the most malicious elf ! Nobody teased 
him as she did ; nobody could. 

" Cousin Hopson," she said to him, the day after 
the feast, for though almost all the rest had gone, 
a few of the more distant remained to extend a 
visit they had come so far to make, " Cousin 
Hopson, will you please to do something for me ? " 

" I guess I will," alertly answered Hopson, be 
witched with the sweet, shy voice. 

" Just hand me down one of them stars to put in 
my hair, will you ? " and Prudy vanished with a 
peal of mocking mirth, echoed by a cackle of fat 
laughter from Tertius Hopson, the Quebec cousin, 
i very jolly, rosy, stout old bachelor, looking for. 
ill the world like a Sir Toby jug. 

" She beats all," said Tertius. " I never see a 
lumbird fuller o' buzz than little Prudy." 

Hopson bit his lips. " I '11 be even with her," 
le said to himself ; so that very evening, as some 
>f the clan gathered round a tiny open fire in 
)zias's kitchen, rather for companionship than 
old, the young farmer said to Prudy : " You 
lighter to be put to use, Prudy. I'd like to 



168 HOPSON'S CHOICE. 

buy ye for a mantelshelf figure ; you 're just big 
enough." 

" I ain't for sale," snapped Prudy. 

" Why, you 'd do first-rate ; them things are all 
the go, and you 're the exact size." 

So saying, he stooped, and before Prudy knew 
what had happened, two strong hands grasped her 
tiny waist, and she was swung up like a feather by 
those mighty arms, and set on the broad oaken 
shelf among the flatirons, candlesticks, and other 
miscellaneous articles thereon ; while Hopson, re 
treating a step, looked her in the face, and a roar 
of laughter from Tertius, Ozias, 'Mandy, Josiah, 
and the rest completed her discomfiture. Prudy 
colored scarlet, her eyes flashed, and one little fist 
clinched instinctively ; the other hand held fast to 
the shelf. 

" Cousin 'Zias, take me down," she called out im 
peratively. 

" Bless your soul, Prudy ! I ain't big enough." 

" Get a chair." 

" Why, folks is settin' on 'em, every one," and 
Ozias looked round with an air of innocent dismay 
that renewed the laughter. 

" I '11 take ye down, Prudy, if you '11 say ' please,' 
like a good baby," calmly remarked Hopson. 

Prudy choked. " I '11 stay here all night first," 
she snapped. 

"Well, 'tis jest as I said now. You do make 
about as goodlookin' a figure for a mantel as ever 
was." 



HOPSON'S CHOICE. 169 

" Take me down ! " shrieked Prudy. 

But oh, how pretty she was up there ! Dresden 
could not match with her costliest figurines the 
delicate creature in her china-blue gown (a sudden 
chill having come after the September heats had 
made woolen garments comfortable), falling in soft 
dim folds just to the smallest shoes that ever a 
Hopson even could wear, her white throat set off 
by carnation ribbons under the lace frill, and an 
other bow of that tender, vivid color in her waving, 

O ' 

shining hair, her eyes sparkling, her red lips apart, 
and her cheeks rosier than her ribbons. Hopson 
Bunnell could have looked at her forever, but he did 
not say so. " Say ' please ' now real pretty," 
was all he did say, unconsciously drawing nearer 
;o the lovely little creature. 

Prudy was quickwitted ; she controlled her rage a 
noment. " W-e-11 " reluctantly "I don' know 
)ut I 'd whisper it, rather 'n stay up here all night." 

Luckless man ! He drew near to catch the 
>recious whisper, but as he turned his ear, Prudy's 
land descended on his brown cheek with a resound- 
ng slap that left a print of five little fingers im- 
>ressed thereon visibly for at least an hour ; but 
las! in avenging herself Prudy lost her balance, 
nd Hopson caught her and kissed the lovely, indig- 
ant face before he really knew what he was doing. 

" ' A kiss for a blow, always bestow,' " cackled 
'ertius. And everybody roared again, except 
'rudy, who dropped to the floor, burst into tears, 
id fled. 



170 HOBSON'S CHOICE. 

Hopson was really ashamed of himself, but it 
did seem to him as if his head whirled ; a sense 
of wild bliss ran in all his veins ; he knew well that 
he had taken an unfair advantage of Prudy, but 
so reckless was his delight that he was not a bit 
repentant. 

However, he had to repent next day. Prudy 
turned into a perfect snowball whenever he came 
near her. It took a week of abasement and apolo 
gies to put them on the old footing (externally) 
again. Could he tell, poor fellow, being only a 
man, how Prudy secretly exulted in the apology she 
professed to despise ? i. e., " You were so sweet 
and so pretty, I could n't help it, Prndy." 

How was he to know that these words rang in 
her ears like a song of joy day and night, or that 
in the once still depths of her heart Prudy recog 
nized a sweet perturbation that dated from the 
second she was held in those powerful arms, close 
against a manly, throbbing heart? 

But nobody could be cross in this clear autumnal 
weather, with gay leaves beginning to illuminate 
the woods, daily parties to hunt for gentian blos 
soms, to gather " wintergreen plums," to heap up 
red and golden apples under the orchard boughs, 
or clamber after fragrant wild grapes on the hill 
sides. Hopson grew deeper in love with every 
new day, and Prudy fought more feebly against 
the chains that seemed daily to imprison her will 
and her thoughts. Perhaps the course of true love 
might for once have run smooth but for that un- 



HOPSON'S CHOICE. 171 

ruly member that spoils most of our plans in this 
world, and brings to naught the best intentions and 
the sincerest goodwill. Tertius Hopson still lin 
gered in Hop Meadow, as well as Pamela Bunnell 
and her son. Tertius was living in Quebec "on 
his means," as we Yankees phrase it. He had made 
some money there in trade, and settled down to 
enjoy it in a sort of selfish fashion that was not 
natural to his jolly, kindly disposition. 

He had never known how close and pleasant are 
the ties of kindred till now ; he seemed at last 
to have got home ; here was the stir, the interest, 
the sweetness of a daily intercourse hitherto denied 
him, and it seemed to warm and rejuvenate his life, 
to quicken his pulses, to brighten his ideas ; he 
loved it ; he could not tear himself away ; and 
above all things he loved to " bother " Polly Hop- 
son. Whenever she sighed, he smiled, broad and 
beaming as the harvest moon ; whenever she be 
wailed herself, he laughed ; when she wept, as now 
and then she did weep over the departed Bezaleel, 
he would deliberately sit down and sing to her all 
the queer old songs he had learned in the "old 
country," as he persisted in calling Quebec, till the 
Meadow boys learned by heart " The Leather Bot- 
tel," "The British Grenadiers," "Hunting the 
I Tare," " Lasses and Lads," and sundry other rol 
licking ditties which once delighted the ears of our 
forefathers across the water, and have in them still 
a ringing, hearty smack of country squiredom and 
rural sports. At first Polly was outraged ; her 



172 HOPSON'S CHOICE. 

chin fell half an inch, and her curls frayed out of 
cuiiiuess with the solemn shakes of her head and 
the dampness of her tears ; but she endured from 
helplessness, and began at last to smile wintrily 
and forbearingly on the unconquerable jollity of 
the man whom at first she mildly contemned. It 
threatened to be the old story of " first endure, 
then pity, then embrace ; " and, as usual, outsiders 
saw most of the game. 

Ozias and Josiah, after their custom, sat in con 
clave upon the matter. They had just set the cider- 
mill going, which they owned in common, and 
perched themselves on a cart-neap, where they 
could " chirk up the hoss " which revolved with 
the beam of the press, and yet indulge in that gos 
sip which delighted their souls, combining business 
with pleasure. 

" Say," began Josiah, " have n't you sorter sur 
mised, Ozy, that Tertius favors Hop Meadow for 
a resid in '-place, so to speak?" 

" Well, I hev," Ozias answered, " and I should n't 
be no more 'n surprised ef that he settled down 
here after a spell ; he 's lonesome up to Quebec, 
I expect. There ain't nothin' like your own folks, 
after all, when you 're gettin' along in years ; the' 
don't nobody else sorter seem to belong t' ye." 

" It does make a sight of difference," replied 
the moralizing Josiah. " When one 's young, and 
havin' their monsterious days, it don't make no 
great of difference where they be, nor what they 're 
ft-doin' of ; but come to git rheumatiz onto a feller, 



HOPSON'S CHOICE. 173 

and hev the grinders cease because they are few, as 
Scripter tells, why, you begin to be everlastin' 
thankful that there 's a house 'n' home for ye, and 
a woman to cook your vittles." 

" That 's so, Josh, and that 's why I 'm a-goin' 
to hev 'Mandy and her feller settle down along 
with me when they get married. She '11 hev the 
farm when 

The end o' my nose 
An' the tips o' my toes 
Is turned up to the roots of the daisies, 

as the songbook says ; and she might as well stop 
to hum and look after me as to go further and fare 
worse. But seems to me kinder as if Tertius was 
slyin' round Polly, if you '11 b'lieve it." 

" Heavens to Betsey ! " gasped Josiah. " That 
old feller?" 

" Well, I never see the time, Josh, 't a man was 
too old to git married, nor a woman nuther, for 
that matter. It 's everlastin' queer, surely, for him 
fco take a likin' to Polly. I 'd as lieves hang on to 
a wet dish-rag as her, when all 's said an' done, but 
many men of many minds,' as the sayin' goes, and 
if she 's to his'n, why, I don't make nor meddle 
tvith 'em. She 's got a good place for to take him 
nto." 

" Yes ; that 's suthin. He 's got means, I s'pose, 
Dut it 's kind o' lonesome to live the way he does 
ip to (^webec, a-lodgin', as he calls it, and to be 
;ook down with the sarcastic rheuinatiz as he was, 



174 HOPSON'S CHOICE. 

" Land sakes ! what 's that ? " asked Ozias. 

" Well, I don't reelly know ; I b'lieve it 's prin 
cipally confined to one leg, an' starts pretty high 
up, but that 's what he called it, anyway ; mabbe 
'tis the English name on't; but it's real severe, 
now I tell ye ; he said it made him holler like a 
loon." 

" Polly can cry for somethin' then," dryly re 
marked Ozias. 

" And I sorter surmise, Ozy, that Pamely's boy 
is a-hankerin' after little Prudy." 

" Well, I 've had my idees sot that way too. 
He 's a clever feller as ever was ; but I should hate 
to lose little Prudy. Darn the cretur ! ain't there 
nobody else to Hop Meadow he could set his eyes 
onto but her?" 

" I 'd like to know who else," answered Josiah. 
" 'Mandy 's spoke for, as well you know ; and I 
have heered lately that Lizzy Brown is promised to 
Marinus's nevy down to Cape Cod ; he 's mate to 
a threemaster, so they tell, and is off on a voyage 
jest now, so they don't talk on 't, but it 's so. Ma- 
rinus has kep' his mouth shut. He's a kind of 
a dumb, oyster cretur." (Poor " mixy " Josiah 
meant " austere.") 

" Nat'ral for him to keep his mouth shut," put 
in Ozias ; " they gener'lly do." 

Josiah stared, but serenely went on. " But he 
did allow 't was so to Aunt Nancy, an' she up an' 
told my wife, so ye see the' ain't reelly nobody but 
little Prudy to hev." 



HOPSON'S CHOICE. 175 

" Hobson's choice for him, ain't it ? Hullo, 
young feller ! Speak of a donkey 'n' you see an ear, 
direct ; " for here Hopson Bunnell stalked into the 
cider-mill shed, his handsome face warm with exer 
cise, and his eyes softened and deepened by his un 
spoken thoughts. 

" We was just a-talkin' about you," exclaimed 
Josiah. 

" And Cousin 'Zias had to call me a donkey. 
Now is that friendly ? " laughed Pamela's boy. 

" There 's worse critters than donkeys," blandly 
answered Ozias ; " but I was only a-usin' the term 
proverbially, as it were, or was, or might be. Fact 
is, my eyes is gettin' open to your designs, sir, and 
I was kind of dammin' in a genteel way about 
your carryin' off little Prudy to lowy, when she 'a 
the one we all set by like our eyes, and I was askin' 
in a general manner, ef there was n't no other Hop- 
son girl you could have took up with beside her ; 
and Josiah said the' wa'n't the rest was all be 
spoke ; an' I said 't was Hobson's choice with ye." 

Pamely's boy flushed to his dark curls ; his head 
was lifted as if some proud delight lay on a height 
that he could see, but no other, and his voice rang 
^ut in subdued yet clear cadence as he answered : * 

" There is n't another girl, outside of Hop 
Meadow neither, Ozias j there ain't in the world. 
There 's nobody for me but little Prudy. You was 
ight one way ; she 's Hopson's choice, and no 
)ther." 

Unlucky mother-tongue ! why are 6 and p so 



176 HOPSON'S CHOICE. 

near alike in our queer old language that the dis 
tinction between them is almost inexpressible by 
human lips ? As luck would have it Prudy and 
Lizzy Brown had privately stolen up to the cider- 
press, thinking it deserted, to indulge in the surrepti 
tious but dear delight of sucking sweet new cider 
through a straw. They were old and demure 
enough to be ashamed of the trick if any one saw 
them, but the rich fruity beverage was delicious to 
their girlish memories, and slyly they stole out to 
indulge in the tipple, carrying gold-bright straws 
in their hands, and came up behind the shed just 
in time to hear Hopson's declaration. 

Prudy's face flamed, the tender visions that had 
dwelt in her dumb heart and softened her cool 
brown eyes were struck by the lurid light of sud 
den fury, and fled away ; she grasped Lizzy's arm 
with a viselike grip. 

" Come right away," she whispered ; and fleet as 
a silent pair of goblins they left the green yard 
where the shed stood, and disappeared down a nar 
row lane that led to Josiah's barn. 

Prudy rushed into that friendly shelter, banged 
the door behind her, relaxed her hold of Lizz} r , and 
sitting down promptly on a wheelbarrow, cried 
with rage. 

" Why Prudy," said the gentle Elizabeth, " what 
in the world 's the matter ? " 

" Did n't you he-he-hear him ? the awful, hor 
rid, mean thing," sobbed Prudy. 

" Hear who, dear ? " 



HOPSON'S CHOICE. 177 

" Why, that great, horrid Hopson Bunnell. 
Did n't you hear him I 'in sure he spoke out 
loud enough say that he 'd got to marry me : 
't was Hobson's choice and no other ? " 

Prudy did extend the facts a little, it is true ; 
she did n't mean to 1 extend them, but she gave 
the idea as she took it in, just as the rest of us 
poor mortals do, without a thought that any other 
construction than her own could be put upon the 
words, or that she had confounded those confounded 
letters, forgive the phrase, dear reader ; they con 
tinually exasperate me, b and p. 

" No, I did n't hear him," condoled Lizzy. 
" Poor dear Prudy, did he say such a mean thing ? 
Well, never mind, dear, that don't make it so ; you 
know you have n't got to take him. You don't like 
him" 

Prudy reared her dishevelled little head from the 
side of the wheelbarrow, like a snake about to strike. 

" You goose ! " she said. I do like him. Oh 
dear ! oh dear ! Lizzy Brown, 1 11 kill you if you 
3ver tell. But I do. I can't help it, and, oh ! 
ind and I thought he liked me first, or I never 
-oh! oh!"- 

Here a flood of tears literally drowned her voice, 
ind in Lizzy's soft eyes tears shone with sympa- 
;hetic brightness. She sat down by Prudy, and 
)egaii to sob too. 

" And he oh, Liz! he kissed me once, and 
low he says 't was Hobsou's choice. I 'd just like 
o shoot him." 



178 HOPSOX'S CHOICE. 

Prudy started suddenly, and the wheelbarrow, 
overloaded with grief and girls, as suddenly tipped 
over, leaving girls and grief in a heap on the barn 
floor. This was too much for Prudy. Blinded 
with hayseed, damp with tears, choked with hys 
teric laughter, it was a good hour before Lizzy 
could calm her or restore her to her proper aspect, 
and make her consent to go home quietly, though 
with burning vengeance in her heart. 

Poor Hopson ! the world was hollow now, and 
his doll stuffed with bran. If he did n't want to 
go into a convent, he did want to go back to Iowa, 
and yet Prudy controlled him like a Fate, and 
kept him miserable, abject, and longing in Hop 
Meadow, growing thin, pale, and silent, after the 
approved hang-dog fashion of unhappy lovers who 
are tacitly allowed to flaunt their wretchedness all 
abroad, probably because it is so transitory. 

Polly sighed and wept. Tertius laughed and 
sang more than ever. Changeful as the aptest 
specimen of her sex, Polly now earnestly desired 
that Prudy should marry and leave her to Tertius, 
for Polly had at last consented to try another Hop- 
son " try " in more senses than one and much 
she feared that Prudy would send " Pamely's boy " 
home in despair. 

Pamela, too, was distressed to the heart with her 
boy's misery. She dared not try to console him, 
for on her feeblest attempt to break the ice he 
would turn on his heel and leave her. At last she 
brought her trouble to Ozias, with whom she had 



HOPSON'S CHOICE. 179 

been brought up, and whom she regarded as a 
brother. 

" Say, Ozy, what do you suppose ails Hopson ? 
He don't never eat a meal of vittles ; jest picks a 
mouthful, as you may see, not enough for a 
chippin'-bird. And he 's a-grievin' in'ardly the 
whole time ; I know he is, for he don't sleep nights, 
and he ain't no fatter 'n a hen's forehead. He 's 
wastin' away, dyin' by inches, I do believe." 

" Well, Pamely, he '11 be quite a spell dyin', 
then, if that 's a comfort to ye : there 's consider- 
'ble many inches to Hopson." 

" Oh-zias, I b'lieve you 'd laugh ef I was a-dyin' ! " 
indignantly snapped Pamela. 

" Mabbe I should. I don't love to cry before 
folks ; but really now, Pamely, I b'lieve what ails 
Hopson is that little witch of a Prudy ; he 's most 
amazin' sot on her, and she won't so much as look 
at him. I 'm free "to confess I thought she liked 
him for a spell ; but, Lord ! what can a feller find 
out about women-folks ? They 're spryer, an' cu 
ter, an' sinfuler, an' more pernickity 'n a fire-hang- 
bird ! I don't see into it." 

" Oh dear ! what shall I do ? " sighed Pamela, 
despairingly. 

" Don't do nothin' ! I '11 see to it. It 's one of 
them cases where somebody's got to speak in 
rneetin', and when there 's a woman to pay, it 's a 
sight better to ketch a-holt of her with a strong 
hand, same as I used ter squeeze grasshoppers 
when I was a boy, and hold her still till she tells. 



180 HOPSON'S CHOICE. 

I '11 tackle Miss Prudy myself, for the thing 's got 
to be did ; this hangin' on by the eyelids ain't 
nateral nor pleasin'. You keep still." Pamela 
was used to the masterful ways of Ozias, so she 
took to her rocker and her knitting, wiped a few 
mild tears from her kind old eyes, and waited for 
events. 

Ozias, well aware of Prudy's haunts, followed 
the path by the side of Bright Brook down to a 
cluster of shagbark walnut-trees on a meadow that 
belonged to Bezaleel's farm ; he knew she had 
gone there nutting, and meeting the doleful Hop- 
son on his way, remarked, curtly, " Young feller, 
I want you should happen down this road in twenty 
minutes : don't make it longer." 

Hopson stared. 

" Come, now ; do as I tell you : you '11 be glad 
on't." 

" I '11 come if you want me," was the listless an 
swer. 

Ozias found Prudy doing anything but nutting ; 
her basket was on the ground empty, all about her 
lay husks and nuts that the keen wind of Novem 
ber had thrown down, but she left them to lie 
there. Her shawl was drawn over her head, her 
head leaned against a mighty tree, and she Avas 
crying fast and silently, when Ozias jumped over 
the fence. She tried to tie on her hat, but Ozias 
sat down beside her and took her two hands fast 
in his. 

" Prudy," he said, " I 've got a word to say to 



HOPSON'S CHOICE. 181 

ye : why on the face of the airth air you treatin' 
Pamely's boy the way you be ? " 

" I ain't," said Prudy, irrelevantly and femi 
ninely. 

Ozias went on, regardless of her futile remark : 
" He 's a-actin' like a born fool, jest because you 
won't not so much as look at him. He thinks the 
sun rises an' sets in your face, an' " 

" He don't either," broke in Prudy, " an' you 
know he don't." 

" I know he does. He don't nyther eat nor 
sleep for thinkin' of ye. The great strong, hulkin' 
feller acts like a sick chicken. Now what 's to 
pay?" 

" Hm ! " sniffed Prudy, her color rising and her 
eyes flashing. " I guess he 's found out I ain't 
Hobson's choice for him, not noway." 

" Whew ! " whistled Ozias. " Who told you he 
thought you was ? " 

" Nobody. I heard him say so and you was 
sittin' by and heard him too in the cider - mill 
shed, that time " 

" Well, if ever I did ! " and Ozias laughed till 
the woods about them rang again. Prudy grew 
furious. Ozias stopped when he heard her angry 
5obs, and called out, " Hopson Bunnell, step over 
that air five-rail fence, and come here." 

Prudy struggled to escape, but Ozias held her 
sight. He had reckoned well on Hopson's over- 
punctuality, and the tall fellow vaulted over the 
ails at his call. 



182 HOPSON'S CHOICE. 

" Say, Prudy here was behind the shed that day 
me an' Josiah was a-pesterin' you about sparkin' 
of her. Now you tell what you said." 

*' I ? I was sort of riled at your sayin' that she 
was Hobson's choice, and I spoke up and said 
't wa'n't so ; she was Hopson's choice, And so she 
is, and will be forevermore, whether she cares a 
cent about it or not." 

At the strong ring of that voice Prudy felt her 
very heart thrill, and Ozias, with preternatural 
wisdom, let go her hands, as he said : " I 've al 
ways heered that two was company and three was 
none, and I 'm a-goin' to put the hearsay into ex- 
per'ence direckly ; but it 's also a fact that two is 
better witness than one, and I hereby say and de 
clare, a-holdin' up my right hand to wit, that this 
here mortal long Bunnell feller did say jest what 
he says he said, that the aforesaid Prudy was, out 
of all Hop Medder, and the hull creation besides, 
Hopson's choice. And I swan to man I b'lieve 
she is ! " he added, looking abroad at the shag- 
barks as he saw Prudy run into Hopson's arms, 
and kindly left the two to their own company, 
whistling as he went, but not for want of thought. 



CLARY'S TRIAL. 

" COME ! hurry up there ! " 

In answer to the coarse, strong voice of Goody 
Jakeway, who kept the Blisset tavern, her hand 
maiden came from the kitchen into the parlor with 
a mug of hot flip for the traveler who had just 
alighted. 

It was not strange that Guy Morgan forgot his 
comforting cup as he looked at the bearer. Clary 
was only a bound girl, but nature had made her an 
aristocrat outwardly and inwardly, as the proud 
lift of her beautiful head, the serene calm of her 
great brown eyes, and the lithe grace of her fig 
ure bore witness. If hard work had reddened her 
little hands, it had not destroyed the dimples and 
raper of her fingers, or the exquisite turn of her 
slender wrist ; and her short, dark skirt of linsey- 
woolsey no more hid the small arched foot, than 
;he coarse, short gown of linen check concealed 
ler noble white throat or graceful shoulders and 
ilight waist. She was pale, but the curved red lips 
ihowed that her pallor was not that of illness, and 
f you but looked at her too hard the very hue 
>f a pink lily flushed that clear fairness even up 
o the shining masses of dark brown hair, tucked 
iway behind her tiny ears and braided in a heavy 



184 CLARY'S TRIAL. 

coiled knot like the tresses of a Greek statue. If 
Clary had been born a duchess the world would 
have heard of her ; but she was born a pauper, and 
was bred in the poor-house. Perhaps the best 
blood of Old England ran in her veins, but nobody 
knew it, and the orphan child of an unknown 
woman brought in from the roadside, dying with 
exhaustion and cold, is not often credited with no 
ble lineage. 

Guy Morgan was Judge Morgan's son, of Litch- 
field. The Morgans were an old Connecticut 
family who had a genealogical tree to fall back 
on, and Guy was now on his way home from Har 
vard and its law school. He had been petted in 
Boston society, for his family were of the Brahmin 
sort, and their record indorsed him ; he was men 
tally brilliant, too, and handsome as a young prince 
is supposed to be. His high, regular features and 
dark blue eyes were alight with intellect rather 
than feeling ; but there lay a depth of unrevealed 
passion and devotion below them. 

Clary did not look up at him, for she knew 
what eyes were upon her from behind the bar ; 
but he looked at her, and his very heart thrilled at 
that wonderful beauty, that gracious shape and 
faultless coloring. He half drained the mug of 
flip and set it down on the table, turning to speak 
to this mortal Hebe ; but she had disappeared, and 
nothing was left for Guy Morgan but to pay his 
reckoning and mount his horse, reflecting in him 
self, as he rode away, that Blisset was not ten 



CLARY'S TRIAL. 185 

miles from Litchfield, and be could and would see 
that face again. 

Now he had seen all the loveliest women in Bos 
ton over and over ; they had danced with him, 
walked with him, and done their best to spoil him, 
as women will spoil a brilliant and handsome young 
fellow. But not one of them, in all the pride of 
satin, brocade, or jewels, had ever entered so vic 
toriously into his consciousness as this country 
maiden in her coarse clothes ; dress adorned them, 
but she adorned dress. He was a well-read youth, 
ind as he trotted briskly over the rough roads, up 
bill and down, the old ballad of Sir John Suck 
ling kept jingling in his head : 

Her feet beneath her petticoat 
Like little mice stole in and out, 
As they had feared the light. 

Her eyes so guard her face 
I durst no more upon them gaze 
Than on the sun in July. 

As for Clary, she did not even give him a 
bought ; for behind the bar, watching her as an 
U-conditioned cat glares at its prey, sat Lon Jake- 
fay, the son and heir of her mistress, and the man 
>oor Clary loved. 

Goody Jake way had taken the child from the 
oorhouse when she was ten years old, finding it 
ould be handy to have a pair of quick feet to run 
er errands, and ready hands to wait on her ; for 
er only child, this same Alonzo, then about six- 
sen, had run away to sea, and her husband was a 



186 CLARY'S TRIAL. 

wretched, drunken idler. It was she who kept the 
family up, and on her rested all the care of the 
tavern and farm both, as much while her husband 
lived as after his timely death. 

In the service of this rough hard woman Clary 
Kent grew up, just as a harebell grows in the crevice 
of some sturdy boulder, neither rightly fed nor shel 
tered, shaken by all wild winds that blow, nipped 
by stinging frosts, scorched by midsummer suns, 
but by the grace of God a harebell still, clad in a 
beauty and grace that defy position and ignore 
circumstance. That she had food and clothing she 
owed to her usefulness, yet they were doled out 
grudgingly, however hard she earned them ; while 
her sunny temper, quick perception, fidelity, and 
serene activity made her a real treasure. 

" Well, she 's pretty consider'ble helpful," owned 
her mistress to Polly Mariner, the tailoress. as she 
sat by the kitchen window mending Steve the hos 
tler's overalls, for it was haying-time, and neither 
of the women of the house could spare a moment ; 
Steve had to hire his sewing done. 

" She 's everlastin' smart, now, I tell ye," snapped 
out Polly, viciously snipping at a patch which 
would not fit ; " but you '11 have trouble, Mis' 
Jakeway. She 's a sight too good lookin' for a 
tavern gal ; somebody or 'nother will marry her up 
afore you can wink, so to speak, seemin'ly. You 'd 
as good get what you can out on her whilst she 
stays." 

" My land, Polly Mariner ! I guess folks ain't 



CLARY'S TEIAL. 187 

in no gre't pucker to marry gals from the poor- 
house. I don't feel no call whatsoever to fetch 
trouble out o' that idee. She is reasonable good 
lookin', I allow for 't ; but I '11 bet ye a cooky 
she won't marry them that wants her, and them 
she wants won't look at her. She 's real high- 
strung, considerin' ; but she does well by me, and 
she 's got faculty." 

" Well, if she 's got faculty, that 's the end o' 
the law, I expect ; but if I know human natur', 
and it 's everlastin' queer if I don't, considerin' how 
many years I 've done tailorin', you '11 reap trou 
ble yet out of that cretur. I never was pretty- 
lookin' myself, and I allow it tried me whilst I was 
young ; but since I 've got along in years some 
I 'm free to confess I don't see why th' Almighty 
makes girls good lookin'. It fetches heaps of mis 
chief into creation, and don't do no great o' good, 
as fur as I know." 

" Seems to me you 're sorter presumptoous, Polly 
Mariner, to find fault with etarnal Providence that 
way. You don't think, do ye, 't you 're smarter 'n 
the Lord?" 

" Land ! how you talk, Mis' Jakeway ! Folks 
can have idees, I guess, without faultin' Provi 
dence. Well, I won't say no more. time '11 
show. And here 's Steve after them overalls ; my 
work on 'em 's worth ninepence, ef it 's worth a 
cent." 

And in a wrangle over the ninepence this omi 
nous conversation ended ; but not without leaving 



188 CLARY'S TRIAL. 

a troubled corner in Goody Jakeway's mind, for 
of the three things that never return to their first 
place one is the spoken word. 

Two years rolled away, and Clary attained the 
stature of her womanhood : her somewhat slender 
figure rounded into fuller outlines of beauty ; her 
girlish grace developed into stately poise and su 
perb curves ; her soft eyes learned to darken with 
scorn, or flash with passion. But so far Goody 
Jakeway's judgment was correct : the drovers who 
came to the tavern only disgusted the proud girl 
with their coarse admiration, although more than 
one would have gladly married her ; the stage-driv 
ers who stopped for a daily dram, and seasoned their 
flattery well with oaths, pleased her no better ; the 
young louts of farmers, dull, rough, uneducated, 
only just across the dividing line that separates 
the human from the bestial, and far less attrac 
tive than their own sleek herds, these, who as 
sembled in the bar-room to talk and drink and 
smoke clay pipes, were all loathsome to Clary. 

Something in her whole nature revolted at the 
idea of passing her life in any of these companion 
ships, and besides the still but irresistible voice of 
nature she had found for herself a certain sort of 
education. Years before she went to the tavern to 
live, an old man from Hartford had come to spend 
the summer in Blisset. He was a lawyer, and a 
native of the place, but, having amassed enough 
propert}^ to live on, returned like a wild animal to 
his old haunts to die ; for die he did before the 



CLARY'S TRIAL. 189 

summer for which he had engaged board was over. 
He left his property to a college, but the books in 
his trunk, and his clothes, were never claimed. Old 
Jakeway wore out ail the linen, and the clothes 
were cut over for Alonzo's jackets ; the books re 
mained, volumes of what were once called the 
English Classics, the " Spectator," the " Rambler," 
the " Tatler," and all that genus, with a volume of 
Pope and one of Dryden, besides a fine edition of 
Shakespeare. 

All these had Clary fed upon at odd moments 
with the avidity of a keen mind deprived of any 
other food, and they had been to her instead of a 
liberal education. Perhaps in the deepest sense of 
the term they had educated her liberally ; at least, 
they had lit the lamp, hitherto flameless, in the 
alabaster vase of her beauty, and added to that 
fair sculpture the brilliance of lofty thought and 
ardent feeling ; but also they had unfitted .her for 
the stolid life about her, and filled her soul with 
that restlessness which is the penalty of know 
ledge. 

Of all the pregnant fables that ever streamed 
from Shakespeare's pen, perhaps the saddest to 
a woman is that of Titania and Bottom. It is 
called comedy ordinarily ; but is there a more pro 
found pathos or a more shuddering tragedy than is 
contained in the story of that spiritual creature's 
infatuation for the weaver with the ass's head ? 
And what has time done since Shakespeare's day 
but reiterate the spectacle of pure and high- 



190 CLARY'S TRIAL. 

minded women fondling the ass's head that is not 
a mask, and whispering, in the delicate voice of 
devotion, 

" Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed, 
While I thy amiable cheeks do coy, 
And stick musk-roses in thy sleek, smooth head, 
And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy." 

Clary was not quite eighteen when the prodigal 
son of the Jakeways returned from seafaring ; not 
as the prodigal returned, in* evil case outwardly, 
but bringing spoils of gold and garments to make 
him welcome. His father had long since drunk 
himself to death, but the tavern prospered more 
and more, once relieved from the drain of drunken 
extravagance. When Alonzo came back, he found 
a warm greeting and a good home ; the sunniest 
room in the house was swept and garnished for 
him ; the choicest food and most deft attendance 
awaited him. He stepped at once into the headship 
of things with the instinct of manhood : lorded it 
in stable and bar-room, ordered about his mother 
and Clary, swore glibly at old Steve, and conducted 
himself in as ill-conditioned a fashion as his nature 
dictated. 

There was little, one would think, that was at 
tractive about Aloczo Jake way : he was below the 
middle height, but his broad shoulders and long 
arms, his powerful muscular development, and his 
large, sinewy hands gave him a strength dispropor 
tionate to his height ; he stooped a little, as most 
sailors do, and his walk was ungraceful. Nor was 



CLAEY'S TRIAL. 191 

there anything pleasing about his face except a 

pair of handsome keen gray eyes, deep-set under 

bushy brows, but capable of expressing every sort 

of emotion as only gray eyes can. Otherwise his 

features were coarse, his mouth large and sensual, 

with a loose under-lip, betraying, when he smiled, 

a set of strong white" teeth, looking carnivorous as 

a tiger's. All this was capped with a shock of 

straight pale-brown hair and a half-bronzed forehead 

that told of foreign suns. And the picture was 

not altogether attractive to a calm observer who dis- 

3erned it to be the index of a nature passionate, 

vindictive, selfish, and undisciplined ; intelligent 

enough, and capable of attachment to a certain ex- 

:ent, but over all brutal. No doubt he was supe- 

ior to the men who frequented Blisset tavern in 

nany ways ; his experience of the world had heigh t- 

med his natural self-conceit to such an extent that 

lis opinion was ready on every subject, and pro- 

lounced in that dictatorial manner that always 

mposes on conscious ignorance. Then his sullen 

emper and self-absorbed reserve gave him an as- 

>ect of unhappiness that is the surest appeal to a 

horoughly feminine character. Yet this offers no 

xplanation of the fact, which is as stubborn as 

acts proverbially are, that Alonzo had not lived in 

is mother's house twenty-four hours before Clary 

ad lost her heart out of her bosom and dropped 

lie jewel at this swine's feet. If there be meta- 

hysicians who say this thing is impossible, I can- 

ot confute them ; it is true, but inexplicable, that 



192 CLARY'S T1UAL. 

there are women, and men too, who are struck as 
by a bolt from the clouds with the one love of their 
lives, and reason or probability has nothing to do 
with it. 

Why did Mary of Scotland love black Bothwell, 
or delicate Desdemona the Moor? Why have the 
worst ruffians of history always had some woman 
clinging to them or to their memory until death ? 
And what evil woman has not shipwrecked some 
good man's faith and honor, and made his life a 
drifting, wretched wreck? And in obedience to 
this mystic and dreadful exception, which is more 
stringent often than law, our poor little wayside 
beauty fell desperately and utterly in love with 
Alonzo Jakeway. Now this fellow had had the 
ordinary experience of sailors ; he was not unac 
quainted with women, of the baser sort, no 
doubt, but still women. He knew very well that 
Clary was as far above the level of those whose 
society he had frequented in port after port as the 
blue sky in heaven is above its reflection in a muddy 
pool ; yet even from these low examples he had 
learned something of a woman's nature, which is 
not always stamped out even by degradation and 
sin, and it did not take Alonzo Jakeway long to 
see that this beautiful young creature worshiped 
him entirely, without any perception of his real 
character or instinct of his baseness. At first he 
was naturally flattered ; but that mood only lasted 
long enough to put a tender expression into his 
eyes, a softer tone into his rough voice, and add a 



CLABY'S TRIAL. 193 

little consideration to the moody and sullen man 
ners which were his home wear ; and to the girl's 
hungry heart these crumbs were a feast, inasmuch 
as they seemed to her infallible promise of returned 
affection, and fed her day-dreams with the very 
bread of heaven. 

In the bar-room, condescending to his inferiors, 
or amusing himself with the display of his own in 
formation and supreme experience, Alonzo could 
be agreeable at times and affable ; but there were 
dark hours when even the established frequenter 
and wit of the place, Pete Stebbins, found he was 
not to be approached. 

These glooms, which Clary's tender heart laid to 
ihe account of chronic pain, or sad recollection, or 
vveariness of this dull life he lived, were in fact 
lothing more than attacks of ill temper which he 
lad never learned to subdue or conceal. If he over- 
ite or drank too much liquor for his digestion to 
uidure, though to do him justice he was never 
Irunk, he felt, consequently, uncomfortable and 
ingry, and the world about him had to bear it, 
specially the women. Had he been brought up 
n polite society, where the outside friction of well- 
>red people from infancy does, in spite of the ut- 
nost self-indulgence and uncurbed temper, modify 
, man's manner and speech, he would still have 
>een, like a hundred others, " street angel and 
iouse devil," and being essentially a coward he 
id, even here in Blisset, restrain his evil tongue 
omewhat among men ; but his mother and Clary 



194 CLARY'S TRIAL. 

were at his mercy ; they could neither knock him 
down nor return his oaths. Whenever things in 
ternally went wrong with him, or outside matters 
swerved from the line he ordered, it was on these 
two shrinking women that his temper burst ; for 
even his mother, hard, rough, enduring as she was, 
cowered before Alonzo, because she loved him ! 
It is a common saying that if a horse knew its 
own strength no man could guide or mount one ; 
but is it any less true that if a man knew his real 
strength he might do anything with women ? If 
Alonzo had possessed enough knowledge of charac 
ter to understand himself, he could and would have 
led these two in a leash after him forever ; even as 
it was he guided them far and along cruel ways 
before they knew their guide and the path before 
them. It was this utter absorption of herself in 
Alonzo Jake way that blinded Clary's sight to Guy 
Morgan that day he stopped in Blisset to get his 
mug of flip. He might have been one of the 
" plough joggers," as Alonzo derisively styled the 
rural farmers thereabouts, or a pig drover, for all 
the notice Clary bestowed on him ; but from his 
retreat behind the bar Alonzo noticed the long and 
unmistakable stare of admiration Guy bestowed 
on his handmaiden, and a sort' of wolfish jealousy 
sprang up in his breast, mingled with a sudden greed 
of money hitherto littnt. Up to this time he had 
no thought of marrying Clary ; he knew very well 
what his mother would say to that, and he did not 
himself care to be tied up in legitimate bonds, lie 



CLARY'S TRIAL. 195 

could amuse himself with her to the very brink of 
her ruin, or beyond it, if so he pleased, but it was 
not for his pleasure to live with mother and wife 
at daggers drawn in one house. For sin or shame 
he cared nothing ; the very purity of Clary's sim 
ple and devoted nature would add a charm to the 
lazy pursuit whose success he never doubted ; and 
as to her future, who cares for the fate of a flower ? 
Should it not wither and die when its fragrance is 
over ? Nothing so metaphoric passed through his 
mind, but this is the most delicate expression to be 
found for his instincts, which indeed need the veil 
of metaphor. But when he saw Guy Morgan's 
look at Clary, and perceived that a man's admira 
tion could be respectful, it shot across his mind that 
bhe girl might become a great and lucrative attrac 
tion in his business. This young spark, whose 
ispect and dress proved his wealth and position, 
night be the opening wedge, and spread the fame 
)f the beautiful bar-maid in adjacent towns. Blis- 
)et was on a frequented turnpike, and stages from 
ETartford to Litchfield, and so on to Albany, ran 
ihrough it. A little exertion might induce them to 
;top there for dinner instead of at Litchfield ; and 
hen, well, if some crazy city fool, as he phrased 
t, saw this girl, she might be snapped up out of 
lis reach and use. As his wife, this would be im- 
)ossible ; she would be a fixture in the tavern, and 
in attraction, while in this Puritan country what- 
ver shame attached itself to a less honorable con- 
lection would redound to his discredit and injure 
lis business. 



196 CLARY'S TRIAL. 

Beside, if Clary were his wife, young sparks like 
Guy Morgan would have to be careful how they 
stared at her ; and here Alonzo stretched out one 
long arm and clenched fist, with a sudden gleam of 
ferocity in his eye that showed what vengeance 
would be visited on any man who meddled with his 
property. 

So, following the devices of his own craft and 
will, he began to word the love he had hitherto only 
looked at poor Clary ; a whisper now and then, a 
pressure of the soft little hand in his own, a stolen 
kiss, a gentle carefulness, all these produced 
their effect on the guileless and tender heart of this 
lonely girl. Busy about her house, Goody Jake- 
way saw nothing of Alonzo's manoeuvres ; he was 
not ready yet that she should ; he did not, indeed, 
mean to have any previous storms. The plan that 
suited his ease and assured him success was that on 
some pretext or other Clary should be sent to Hart 
ford, and he either follow her, or take her there ; 
that she should stay long enough to make their mar 
riage legal ; and then, when the ceremony was once 
over, they should return to Blisset, and let his 
mother help herself if she could. 

He found chance enough to insinuate his design 
into Clary's ear : if she went to the barn to hunt 
eggs, he was sure to be there before her, with some 
excuse of inspecting harness or examining the straw, 
and in among the bean-vines, where she went to 
gather long pods for dinner, he would be diligently 
at work also ; when she was sent to gather wild 



CLARY'S TRIAL. 197 

strawberries on the hill, he lurked in the edge of a 
neighboring wood, and joined her, till at last, be 
tween her overpowering passion and his plausible 
arguments, she consented to accept his arrange 
ments, and be in readiness to set out for Hartford 
is soon as his plots matured. But " God disposes," 
let us thankfully own. Before anything was even 
rixed upon in Alonzo Jakeway's mind, a very small 
lousehold matter, the mouse that gnawed the lion's 
let, intervened. His stock of shirts began to wear 
nit, and his mother, who had inwardly resented the 
'act that he came home with a goodly supply of 
hese articles, when she had a web of the finest 
rish linen laid up these seven years waiting his 
iced, and yards of linen cambric bought in order 
o ruffle them, was only too glad to install Polly 
vlariner in the keeping-room, with patterns and 
hears, thread of the best, and store of needles, in 
rder to take in hand a dozen of ruffled shirts for 
ly master ; for Polly was as skillful at nice sewing 
s at tailoring, and her stitching was not to be 
latched in Blisset, even by Parson Piper's daugh- 
;r. She had scarce been at work three days on 
le dainty fabric when there was an interruption 
> her duties from a very unexpected quarter. As 
le left her door one July day to go over to the 
ivern, she almost stumbled over the prostrate shape 
: a man lying with his head on her doorstep. At 
t-st she thought him some drunken person who had 
in down there to sleep; but calling her next neigh- 
>r, Pete Stebbins, who was feeding his hens at the 



198 CLARY'S TRIAL. 

back door, to come and help her, she soon discov 
ered that the man was burning with fever and quite 
unconscious. He was evidently a sailor, and there 
was good store of pieces of eight and English 
guineas in his pocket, but no clue to his name any 
where about his person. Pete was ready enough 
to take him in and shelter him when he saw the 
gold pieces, and Polly promised to stop for Dr. 
Root. All of this made her late for her sewing 
that day, and Goody Jake way sent Alonzo over to 
see where the seamstress was, being in a hurry to 
get the shirts done. 

He did not find her at home, for she was in the 
doctor's office ; so he sauntered into Pete's house to 
make inquiry, and finding no one in the kitchen 
went on into the bedroom. Just as he entered the 
doorway the strange man recovered consciousness 
and opened his eyes. Alonzo started as if he had 
been shot, turned the color of clay, and drew back. 
A sort of spasm convulsed the stranger ; he clenched 
his hands and tried to spring at Alonzo, but his 
muscles refused to obey the angry will ; the fevered 
brain gave way with the effort, and he sank again 
into stupor and delirium. 

In Alonzo's astonishment he quite forgot that 
Pete Stebbins stood by the bedside, and had eyes 
whose acuteness seemed to make up in rapidity of 
perception for the inborn laziness of his tempera 
ment. 

That night when Polly went over to watch with 
the sick man (for Mrs. Stebbins was a deaf and 



CLARY'S TRIAL. 199 

dumb woman, and of no use here), Pete accosted 
her with, " Say ' ye ben to the tavern to-day ? " 

" "Well, I guess I have," answered Polly, " I 'm 
i-makin' Lou Jakeway a set o' shirts fit for a lord, 
ind he 's in an everlastin' takin' to get 'em done, I 
lo' know what for ; but Mis' Jakeway she pesters 
ne so, seems as if I should caterpillar. I can't 
;ew no faster 'n I can, if the sky falls. Stitchin' 
lin't flyin' work, now, I tell ye ; and it 's seventeen 
mnderd linen, as sure as you 're alive ; and them 
uffles ! Goshen ! I 'd jest as soon put them 
hings on to the old ram as on to Lonzo ; there 
lin't no fitness, so to speak, seemin'ly, in dressin' 
ech a feller in purple an' fine linen." 

" W-e-11," drawled Pete. "I expect he 's a hard 
retur. I don't reely want to tell on 't ' a-flyin' all 
,broad,' as the hymn-book says, but he come in here 
o-day for suthin' or 'nother, and opened the door 
est as this sick feller kinder come \ o I 'd gin him 
swingein' dose of brandy, ye see, fourth proof, 
nly jest sort o' laced with water, an' I guess it 
tung. He riz up in bed and lie see Lonzo, and 
jon he see'd him. Good Jerus'lem ! I wisht 
ou 'd seen Lonzo's physimogony ; he was jest the 
olor of a cold biled turnip. I never did ! And 
: iis feller he sot his teeth and kinder give a spring, 
^aw ! he could n't do it no more 'n a broken-kneed 
rasshopper ; he gin out dyrect, and went off stupid 
gin. But you bet there 's suthin' out o' shape be- 
vixt 'em ! " 
" Well, I b'lieve you \ " exclaimed Polly. " And 



200 CLARY'S TRIAL. 

what 's more I mistrust Lonzo is kind of sweet on 
Clary Kent. I hope 't ain't so ; she 's a real pretty 
girl, as good a girl as ever was ; but I keep an 
eye out, you may rely on 't, and things looks real 
dubious. I don't say nothin', for Goody Jakeway 
ain't aware on 't, and she 'd like to kill anybody short 
o' royal blood that durst to marry Lon ; but I 
b'lieve I '11 speak to Clary. I reely think 't 's my 
duty." 

" Oh Lord ! don't ye do it, then ! " groaned 
Pete (whose real name by the way was Petrarch !). 
" I 've allers noticed when women-folks got a-goin' 
on dooty, they 'd say the meanest, hatefulest things 
that ever was ! Say ye like to torment a gal, an' 
take her down mortally, an' you '11 mabbe see how 't 
is, reely ; but say it 's * dooty,' an' there ain't no 
whoa to ye, no more 'n to my old mare when she 
gets her head. I don't see where it 's folks's dooty 
to say pesky things, any way ; ef it 's suthin' real 
agreeable, why " 

But here the harangue was cut off by a cry from 
the bedroom ; they found the patient stupid no 
longer, but raving and crying out fiercely, " I '11 

fetch him, my lass; cheer up, Mary! D d 

rascal ! Let me go ! Let me go ! I want to get at 
him ! " 

Polly was an accomplished nurse, and under her 
medicaments the poor fellow became more quiet : 
but at intervals through the night he talked wildly, 
always on one theme, a poor girl's desertion, the 
girl seeming to be h's sister, and his fierce desire 



CLARY'S TRIAL. 201 

to get hold of the man and punish him. In the 
later hours of the night his ravings grew less and 
he weaker ; only once he sprang up and glared at 
the door, swearing a great oath. " It 's you, is it ? 
I 've run you to earth, you villain ! I 've got her 
marriage lines, and I '11 clap you into Bridewell if 
I don't kiU you first ! " 

Polly stroked and coaxed and sung a sweet old 
hymn to him, till she could persuade him to swal 
low a cup of strong skull-cap tea, and either from 
pure exhaustion or the mild narcotic and stimulating 
warmth of his dose he fell into uneasy slumber ; and 
then she stole out and called Pete, who was mak 
ing a fire in the kitchen, and asked him if he found 
anything in the stranger's wallet except money. 

" Well, I did n't look no further ; when I come 
to the sinners o' war, why I see 't was all right. 
Folks that hez money in their pockets is giner'lly 
about right, 'cordin' to my b'lief. I '11 fetch the 
puss an' see." 

" I wisht you would," said Miss Polly. " I Ve 
got my own misgivin's, 'count o' what he said; 
seems to hev suthin' on his mind." 

So Pete brought the old wallet, worn and stained, 
ind left it with Miss Polly, who searched it 
:horoughly, and at last discovered in its inmost fold, 
ndeed, where it had slipped between lining and 
)utside, a dirty and creased but quite legible cer 
tificate of mai'riage between Mary Harris, of Liver- 
)ool, England, and Alonzo Jakeway, of Blisset, 
America, 



202 CLARY'S TRIAL. 

Polly was a woman of discretion, though she 
loved to talk. She resolved not to make her dis 
covery public, for to trust it to Pete was as if it 
were printed in the local column of a county paper ; 
he served as the news medium for all Blisset, where 
only one copy of any journal, the small, dull sheet 
of the " Hartford Weekly Courant " as it existed 
in 1790, was taken, and that only by the minister. 

She answered Pete's inquiries astutely, when he 
came back from the shed, by displaying an old brass 
ring, a slip from an English paper with ship news 
on it, a true-lover's-knot of blue ribbon with a curl 
of gold hair caught in its tie, and half a rollick 
ing ballad, such as hawkers sold about the old 
country. 

"Had your labor for your pains, didn't ye?" 
chuckled Pete. 

"'T wa'n't no great o' labor," laughed Polly, 
disagreeably conscious that her own small buck 
skin purse contained Alonzo Jakeway's secret, and 
perhaps poor Clary's heart-break. 

It would indeed have been a good day for Alonzo 
that had spared him those new shirts, and sent 
Polly Mariner in another direction ! But her dis 
covery bore consequences she did not dream of, 
though they delayed long. After it she kept a 
closer watch than ever on Clary, and made up her 
mind that she must interpose at once to save the 
girl from ruin. 

Alonzo had gone to New York the day after his 
interview with the stranger, if such the mere rco- 



CLARY'S TRIAL. 203 

ognition could be called, but returned as soon as 
possible. He would not have gone at all except 
on urgent business, and he came back by way of 
Hartford, in order to persuade his old aunt that she 
ought to send out to Blisset for Clary to come and 
stay with her a while, to wait upon her. Aunt 
Smith was held in great regard by Goody Jake- 
way. She was the only near relative her husband 
had left ; but that never would have commended 
her to the good graces of her niece in Blisset, ex 
cept for the fact that she was the widow of a well- 
to-do grocer who had kindly left her all his goods 
and chattels to dispose of as she would, to the great 
anger of his own relations. When Alonzo reached 
home, with an urgent invitation from his aunt to 
have Clary come and visit her, it happened that 
Polly Mariner, so as to see better, had taken one of 
the shirts upstairs to a south window. The next 
room was Clary's, and Polly could not help over 
hearing a conversation between her and Alonzo 
that betrayed to her their plans, for their voices 
were quite unguarded ; Goody Jakeway being three 
miles off at a quilting, and Clary quite certain that 
the tailoress was where she left her two hours be 
fore, in the keeping-room, not in the least suspect 
ing that the sharp ears of this equally sharp-eyed 
woman were just the other side of a thin partition 
in one of the unused tavern bedrooms. Polly could 
bide her time, but she saw that in this instance she 
must be prompt. To-day was Tuesday, and on 
Thursday Clary was to go to Hartford ; for Alonzo 



204 CLARY'S TRIAL. 

well knew that however his mother might grumble 
she could not, or rather dared not, offend his aunt 
Smith by denying her request. So after tea, when 
Polly was ready to go home, she asked Clary to 
walk along with her and fetch back some red balm 
flowers she had promised Goody Jakeway, as her 
task at the shirts was done now. They stopped at 
the minister's house on the way, and Polly made 
her companion sit down in the hall while she her 
self went into Parson Piper's study, and came back 
with a folded paper in her hand. Then she hur 
ried Clary on, and as soon as they had reached the 
spinster's queer little brown house, she drew her 
into the parlor, and without a word of explanation 
laid before her Alonzo Jakeway's marriage certifi 
cate. It was Polly's belief that a sharp, quick 
thrust is the truest mercy ; but it was not pleasant 
to see Clary's beautiful face turn dead and white 
as a marble mask. Her hand clutched at her 
throat a moment as if something choked her, and 
then she gasped, " I don't believe it ! " 

" Well, child, that don't make it so," said Polly 
sadly. " It looks true, and I 've took means to 
find if so be 't is or 't is n't ; but Parson Piper he 
hain't a doubt on 't. He 's heered tell of the man 
that 's put his name to 't, him that married 'em ; 
he 's chaplain to some seaman's meetin'-house or 
'nother over there to Liverpool. Any way, if ever 
that sick feller comes to rights, he '11 know the 
upshot on 't." 

Clary said not another word ; like a stunned 



CLARY'S TRIAL. 205 

creature she set her face toward the tavern and 
dragged her slow steps thither ; while Polly, know 
ing that Alonzo had gone to fetch his mother home 
from the quilting, hastened back to give the certi 
ficate into Parson Piper's hands again, and the 
worthy man proposed, as he was going to drive 
over to Litchfield early in the morning, that he 
should take the paper over and have an attested 
copy made of it, to guard against accident. 

He and Polly both knew thait accident meant 
Alonzo, but with proper respect for the decencies 
kept the knowledge to themselves. And well they 
might have dreaded his rage, for poor Clary, after 
a night of dreadful anguish and struggle with her 
self, resolved to tell him at once. A less simple 
and humble nature might have trembled and dal 
lied with some temporizing arguments, but Clary 
had in her soul one desire, of Heaven's own plant 
ing, that had divine endurance and strength, the 
honest desire to do right. She knew it was utterly 
wrong even to love Alonzo if he was another wo 
man's husband, and she meant to give all her ener 
gies to unlearn the passion that held her in such 
dear slavery. But the first step was plain and 
near : she must tell him, to begin with, that she 
knew his double-dealing, and then take the rest of 
her life to forget her past. 

It is true that she ought, according to the strict 
code of feminine morals, to have ceased at once to 
have any tender feeling toward such a sinner ; but 
poor Clary loved him I It was like taking her life 



206 CLARY'S TRIAL. 

in her hand to withdraw him to the barn on some 
pretext early in the morning, and tell what she had 
discovered. The storm that ensued was fearful. 
Alonzo Jakeway was not accustomed to thwarting ; 
he would just as soon have expected the white rose 
bush by the window to uproot itself and try to 
scratch him as to have Clary rebel if he asked of 
her the most menial service, but to have her fly in 
his face like this was outrageous. 

Having partially exhausted his fury in words and 
threats poured out upon the trembling creature be 
fore him, he thrust her roughly aside, and hurried 
over to Pete Stebbins's house to see if the sick man 
was yet able to speak rationally, determined to stop 
his tongue by either force or bribes, and to tell 
some plausible lie to Clary ; for he had already de 
clared to her with a fearful oath that the story was 
false. He had kept close watch over this stranger's 
condition, not personally, but through others, and 
he knew very well that his delirium had continued 
and his strength grown less every day ; but he did 
not know that in those ravings his own name had 
more than once met Pete Stebbins's ear and aroused 
his suspicions. 

To-day Alonzo hurried to the house, determined 
to end the suspense that enraged him. The morn 
ing was calm and full of July's rich odors ; beds of 
fern breathed their delicate perfume on the fresh, 
soft air, and the silence of summer filled all the 
sky ; the sad broad fields, the granite ribs of earth, 
the quiet woods, all were lapped in peace. There 



CLARY 1 S TRIAL. 207 

was not a sound in Pete Stebbins's old red house 
as the angry man strode across to the bedroom, 
whose door stood ajar, and where lay the heart of 
all silence, majestic death. Though the couch on 
which the pulseless limbs lay straight and cold was 
poor, with no folds of drapery or garlanded blos 
soms, though the sheet that revealed the immobile 
outline was coarse and scant, no king lying in state 
had more serenity on his white brow or more awful 
meaning in his pallid lips than this dead sailor, for 
his face was at once accuser and judge of the crim 
inal before him. And as Alonzo stood and stared 
at that sculptural mass, memory forced upon him 
another vision, another face, twin to this, except as 
woman never is twin to man, crowned with just 
such clustering gold, lit. with such great blue eyes 
as he knew lay beneath those sealed lids ; and he 
heard a voice saying in sonorous English ac 
cents : 

" Whom God hath joined together let not man 
put asunder ! " 

He turned away silently, and quitted the house 
like one in a dream ; but as he left the door Pete's 
yellow dog leaped up and flew at him, and the tri 
vial attack turned back the unwonted current of 
lis thought. He kicked the creature out of his 
oath, and felt a fierce thrill of joy to think that 
just so this babbler had been flung from his track ; 
;here was only the certificate now, and this he must 
;oax out of Polly Mariner. 

But Polly was not to be coaxed ; her black eyes 



208 CLARY 1 S TRIAL. 

snapped as she told him with serene but triumphant 
contempt that Parson Piper had it in his posses 
sion and was gone to Litchfield. 

" 'T ain't no use to swear ! " she remarked 
blandly. " You can't get it to-day, nohow, and 
you can't ondo it if you could. Black an' white 
don't lie ; " and Alonzo bitterly owned to himself 
that this was true. 

However, he did see the certificate in due time, 
and vindicated the parson's penetration as well as 
Miss Polly's ; for no sooner had the document been 
placed in his hands than he tore it in pieces and 
threw them all from the open window, looking 
round to see only a calm smile on the parson's face, 
and to hear : 

"You have done no harm, young man ; that was 
but an attested copy, and there are more. Beside 
that, the original is not in reach." 

Nothing now remained for the baffled man but 
to make the best of the situation, and the best was 
bad. The affair could not be kept from his 
mother, of course, and she was furious ; her rage 
all fell upon poor Clary, who found it easier to 
bear than the other anguish which had befallen 
her, and who did her best to please and serve her 
mistress, in the vain hope of some future peace. 
It so happened that her term of bondage was not 
quite over ; it had been specially extended in her 
case to her nineteenth year, because she was eleven 
years old when the authorities indentured her to 
Mrs. Jakeway. It might have been the first 



CLARY'S TRIAL. 209 

result of that woman's wrath to turn Clary out of 
the house ; but she could not do so legally, and 
when the first bursts of fury had expended them 
selves she felt that the girl's services were worth 
too much to pait with, and she could at least have 
the satisfaction of making her feel in every fibre 
what presumption and crime she had been guilty 
of, not only in daring to love Alonzo, but in sup 
posing he really meant to marry her, and then in 
" turning up her nose at him," as Goody Jake way 
expressed it, merely because she imagined he was 
married over seas ! So Clary's daily bread was 
doled out to her with a full allowance of coarse 
taunts, bitter reproaches, vulgar revilings, and the 
low but torturing scoffs a coarse and hard woman 
knows too well how to bestow on a sensitive, 
shrinking girl whom she has in her power. Truly 
she watered her food with her tears, and her nights 
were full of an anguish which the torments of the 
day only delayed till their hour and power should 
?ome upon her. But worst of all far, far worse 
than his mother's fiercest tyranny was the per 
sistent endeavor of Alonzo to make her put aside 
ler sense of right and duty and elope with him. 

He swore by every oath he knew that the woman 
le once married in Liverpool was dead, dead 
ong ago ; but he could not prove it. Then he said 
he marriage never was legal, for there were no 
vitnesses ; but this excuse revolted Clary more 
han his first subterfuge appeased her. He uttered 
very lie he could think of, and used every threat 



210 CLARY'S TRIAL. 

his experience suggested ; and when they all failed 
against the strength of a pure purpose in this fra 
gile, heart-broken, wretched girl he pleaded with 
the traitor within her, divining in his devilish sub 
tlety that she loved him as only a woman can love, 
in spite of his anger, his cruelty, his lies, or his at 
tempts to make her as evil as himself. It was his 
tender words, the passion in his beautiful eyes, the 
thrill of sadness and longing in his voice, that shook 
and melted her very soul ; from which she with 
drew, trembling and tempted, to fall on her knees 
and beg for strength from Heaven to deny herself 
as well as her lover. And all this obstinacy, as he 
called it, only fired Alonzo's determination to ob 
tain the prize. Had she been easy of attainment, 
no doubt his desire to marry her, once fulfilled, 
would have degenerated into coldness and indiffer 
ence. It had indeed at first been rather as a mat 
ter of policy and gain that he proposed to give her 
a legitimate right to share his position in the 
house ; but now he was in vital earnest about it, 
and the more strenuously she resisted anger, threat, 
or prayer, the more he set himself to form new 
plans to subdue her, and the more furiously he 
flung himself against all the obstacles that she 
opposed to him, lying awake by night and brood 
ing darkly by day over the invention of a new 
malice or a closer tightening of grip that might 
make her yield. For, once married, he could defy 
his mother and order her out of the house if he 
chose ; while as to Mary Harris, he had long ceased 



CLARY'S TRIAL. 211 

to fear her, since her brother was dead, and she had 
nobody now to help or interfere for her. 

Through all this summer it is not to be supposed 
Guy Morgan had forgotten the beautiful girl of 
Blisset tavern. Many an excuse he made to him 
self for extending his drives or rides as far as that 
little village ; many a time the yellow gig and high- 
stepping black horse stopped before the door and 
were taken round to the barn, while he sat down to 
a common country dinner for the sake of being 
waited on by Clary. Deeper and deeper did the 
fair image that already occupied Guy Morgan's 
heart sink into that goodly abode, though Clary 
never had given him a sly look or a flitting smile. 
It was the old merry-go-round of life repeated. 
Guy loved her ; she loved Alonzo ; he loved him 
self ! and, knowing him to be jealous as no one but 
a selfish man can be, Clary dared not offer the com 
monest courtesies of life to any other man, much 
less Guy Morgan. She keenly appreciated this 
handsome young fellow's grace, refinement, high 
breeding, and kindliness, but it was with a passion 
Df self-devotion which only a woman in love a 
vvoman like her can know, that she rejoiced to 
seep even her outward manner cold and reserved 
except to him she loved. Polly Mariner's sharp 
^yes, however, soon perceived the situation. She 
tnew very well that the Morgans would not coun- 
enance Guy's infatuation, and she knew too that 
ie was a gentleman, a word that meant some- 
hing in those days, and would not harm Clary 



212 CLARY'S TRIAL. 

in word or deed, so she only smiled to herself at 
the little drama before her ; for, like most women, 
she held the love of a man to be a light matter, 
never vital, and rather enjoyed seeing masculine 
struggles upon the baited hook, just as a trout- 
fisher becomes interested in the beautiful creature 
that spins and splashes at the end of his compan 
ion's line. 

But now, when Polly saw that Clary's troubles 
were growing heavier and more unendurable day 
by day, the courageous and sensible woman bor 
rowed a tame old horse and rather dilapidated 
sulky, and set out for Litchfield alone, on " law 
business," she said. She went to Guy Morgan's 
office, for he had begun to practice law, and laid 
the case before him, confiding to him certain steps 
she had already taken. 

He heard her with ill-concealed rage and grief ; 
but as the interview ended he said : 

" You have done all you can, Miss Mariner ; you 
will not have to wait a great while, I think, for re 
sults. But meanwhile you must promise me that if 
any new development happens you will send for me 
at once. I suppose you will not leave Blisset ? " 

" My sakes ! I guess not. I would n't leave 
there for nothing you could mention ! She don't 
mistrust that I 'm her friend, Clary don't. I 'v& 
hed to fetch this trouble on to her. ' Faithful are 
the wownds of a friend,' Scripter says, but it don't 
say but what they hurt jest as much as the wownds 
of an inimy. I think they do wuss, becos you 're 



CLARY'S TRIAL. 213 

kind of obleeged to keep in about 'em ; can't spit 
out, so to speak, as 't were." 

Mr. Morgan smiled, and Polly, whipping up her 
old horse, drove back to Blisset, feeling as if she 
had some strong support to fall back on, whatever 
occurred. She would have relied on Parson Piper, 
but that worthy man lay at death's door with typhus 
fever, and if ever he recovered, which Dr. Root 
loubted, wagging his head with great solemnity, 
he would be months in getting back to life and 
strength again ; and Polly judged wisely in con- 
sluding that she should need some one having au- 
hority in any contention with Alonzo Jakeway. 

About the end of August, when it seemed to 
])lary that endurance would fail and life with it, 
Uonzo appeared to be relieved from some pressure 
'f thought and doubt that had long kept him medi- 
ative and gloomy. A dull fire lit his gray eyes 
dth a sort of evil satisfaction ; and though his 
lother, with feminine persistence, kept up her nag- 
ing and reviling of poor Clary, and made her life 
burden, he let the poor girl alone for awhile, nei- 
ler threatening nor coaxing her. Polly watched 
le whole thing steadily. She distrusted Alonzo 
one the less for his present forbearance. She 
ould gladly have extended comfort to Clary, but 
le girl avoided her carefully, and seemed to shrink 
om her very sight ; so the good woman bided her 
me, not without wonder at the long delay of h^r 
easures for Clary's help, but with no fears as to 
,eir ultimate result. 



214 CLARY'S TRIAL. 

It was now the second week in September, when 
one morning Alonzo Jakeway came downstairs and 
asked his mother where she had put his scarlet 
stockings with gold clocks. These stockings were 
the pride of his heart, for he had a weakness for 
finery, and these scarlet hose of heavy silk, gold- 
embroidered, he had brought with him from abroad, 
and they figured at every feast Blisset knew in 
gorgeous contrast with a pair of black velvet 
breeches, a red satin vest, also gold-embroidered, 
and a coat of fine French cloth with silver buttons. 

There was to be a wedding to-night in Goshen, 
and Alonzo's dress must be in readiness. Clary 
had ironed one of his new shirts, clear-starched the 
frill, and done up his laced cravat to a nicety, lin 
gering over the task as if it were a pleasure, as in 
deed it still was her delight to do any service for 
the man she loved. But this morning he could not 
find the stockings, and great was his wrath ; he 
stormed and swore, and his mother hunted over all 
his possessions and her own too, but in vain. At 
length, with a face of dark menace, Alonzo left 
the house, and returned in two hours with the vil 
lage constable and a search-warrant from the near 
est justice of the peace, who lived in Noppit. On 
the authority of this, every room in the house was 
examined, the hostler's hair trunk, the bags of a 
miller stopping over night on business, the chest of 
drawers in the schoolteacher's room, who had just 
come there to board, and last of all Clary's little 
blue chest, where her small store of clothes lay in 



CLARY'S TRIAL. 215 

due order, with sprigs of cedar and sweet basil 
strewn amongst them. 

There, in the folds of her best sprigged cotton 
-own, her only Sunday gown, lay the red stock- 

ings ! 

Clary was horror-struck. Her dry lips could 
lot part to speak ; her knees refused to support 
ier; she sunk into the nearest chair, and all the 
spectators cried out upon her guilty face. 

So does man judge I The very agony of insulted 
nnocence is accepted as the aspect of guilt 
foaine and horror hang out the same signals with 
onvicted crime. There are not two ways for the 
>lood to leave the heart, or to rush back to it, 
ne way of sin and another of purity; and Clary 
'as condemned in the eyes of all who saw her by 
ae very semblance of her guiltlessness. 

But nothing availed her now; not her solemn 
sseverations of innocence when speech at last re- 
irned. 

Law and justice if indeed it is not a matter 
: libel to mention these together were somewhat 
norantly and clumsily administered in Blisset. 

sudden trial was held before the Noppit justice, 
here were enough to swear that Clary had meant 

marry Alonzo Jakeway, and the match had been 
oken off some time ; doubtless she bore him a 
udge, accordingly, an d stole the stockings in re- 
nge. 

This accusation struck poor Clary dumb. She 
iew such pitiful meanness was as far from her 



216 CLARY'S TRIAL. 

soul as earth from heaven ; but she could see that 
the judge, a heavy, plodding old farmer, believed 
it ; he judged her, as we all do other people, from 
his inward self, and the case was hopeless. It re 
mained only for the constable to swear that he 
found the said red silken hose in her chest, hid in 
her Sunday gown, and the judge was outwardly as 
well as inwardly convinced. He pronounced her 
guilty, sentenced her to pay a fine of one hundred 
dollars, or, in default of ability to pay such fine 
within the two weeks ensuing, to receive thirty lashes 
on her bare back at the whipping-post on Blisset 
green ; and in the mean time to be conveyed to the 
lockup, a bare little room with grated windows, 
above the store and post-office of the village, being- 
partitioned off from the public hall, which occupied 
the second story of the store, and reached from the 
outside by an open stairway. 

For the first time in her life Clary Kent fainted 
when she heard this sentence. Worn out with 
long suffering, constant labor, and the intense heat 
of the past summer, the flesh could not endure one 
more buffet from the spirit, and in a state of mer 
ciful senselessness she was carried back to Blisset, 
taken up the outer stair, and left to recover as 
she might on the rough sacking cot provided for 
the rare occupants of the strong room. 

When she came to herself she longed to faint 
again, for the whole force of the situation rushed 
upon her like a flood, and the judge's sentence was 
burnt in upon her brain as with hot irons. A 



CLARY'S TRIAL. 217 

hundred dollar fine ! and she had not a hundred 
cents. Another girl in her place might have gath 
ered some small store from the generosity of the 
tavern guests, but Clary so disliked notice, was so 
sure to slip out quietly when her service was ended, 
that those who wished to give her money got no 
opportunity to do so, and those who would have 
given it from habit were glad of the chance to 
escape the tax. Guy Morgan would as soon have 
offered gold to the haughtiest woman in Boston 
as to Clary. Yet even if all these had bestowed 
gratuities upon her, she would have been nowhere 
near possessing a hundred dollars ; it was as un 
attainable to her as the wealth of Crresus. 

And the alternative ! 

She had once accidentally passed the whipping 
post when a man had paid the old-time penalty of 
stealing. An awful fascination chained the child, 
then only thirteen years old, to the spot ; but she 
had never forgotten the barbaric spectacle. She 
3ould see still the thongs that lashed him to the 
oost, the bare, glistening back, the descending lash, 
;he purple welt that followed ; she could recall with 
;he distinctness of absolute vision the quiver of 
hat sturdy figure, the groans he vainly tried to re- 
>ress, the brutal jeers of the crowd, and the red 
>lood that spattered on to the snow under the vic- 
im's feet. And all this lay before her I All ? A 
housandfold more, for she was a woman, and the 
ish was no more dreadful in her eyes than the 
xposure of her sacred person, the violence done to 



218 CLARY'S TRIAL. 

her virgin modesty. She did not once think of 
hope. Her nature had been so long crushed into 
earth by misfortune and suffering that her first 
impulse was to despair. She fell off the cot on to 
her knees, and, prostrate on the floor, prayed with 
the whole force of a desperate soul that God would 
let her die before the day of her trial came. 

From this absorption she was roused by the trem 
bling voice of Polly Mariner, who had climbed the 
stair and was calling her through the grated door. 
Clary rose, and looked at her with a shudder. 

" Keep up your heart, child ! keep up ! " sobbed 
Polly, crying as much with rage as with sorrow, for 
she had only just heard the story, and referred the 
whole thing to its right source directly. " You '11 
be took care of ; there 's them will see to 't. Look 
here; I've fetched ye a blanket an' a big sheet. 
It 's warm weather, but September sunshine ain't 
reliable ; mabbe you '11 want bedclothes. And I 've 
spoke to the constable, an' he 's goin' to fetch ye a 
piller and suthin' to eat. You won't be here long, 
noways. I 'm a-goin' over to Litchfield, post-haste, 
to fetch help. Keep up your sperits." 

" Oh, Miss Polly," sighed the girl, inspired with 
hope by the cheery voice and assurance, " can any 
body help me ? " 

" Land, yes ! Anybody can pay your fine, can't 
they? I could myself, ef I had the dollars. I 
hain't got 'em, but I '11 get 'em." 

A thrill of stronger hope awoke in the girl's heart. 
" Oh, then I know Lon will pay it ! He will ! 



CLARY'S TEIAL. 219 

he will ! Oh, I ain't a bit afraid, Miss Polly ; 
he '11 get me out." 

" He ! " ejaculated Polly, with a scorn type is 
powerless to express. " He help you ! Why, if 
you war n't in trouble, I should say you was the 
biggest fool in Blisset. Why, if you knowed beans, 
you 'd know he was to the bottom of all on 't. 
Do you expect them stockin's walked into your 
chist an' crawled inside o' your gown of them 
selves ? " 

Clary's eyes grew dark with horror ; it was true, 
somebody must have put them there. 

" May be 't was her," she said tremulously ; 
meaning, as Polly well knew, Goody Jakeway. 

" Not a bit of it ; she 's ugly enough, but she ain't 
'cute enough. Besides, she don't want to lose ye ; 
she 's buzzin' round now like a bee in a tar barrel 
to get somebody to help her, but there won't none 
o' the decent gals in Blisset go where Lon Jake- 
way is." 

Clary did not notice this small scoff which Polly 
really could not help giving ; she only went on : 

" I know Lorizo will pay for me. Why, Polly, 
he he likes me ! " and here a warm blush suffused 
her beautiful face. " He well, I never told any 
body before, but he wants to marry me just the same. 
He says that woman 's dead, and I only waited to be 
mire ; he 's promised to find out. Do you think he 'd 
let me be whipped ? " Her piteous voice changed 
-,o a ring of scornful triumph as she asked the 
question, but Polly responded promptly : 



220 CLARY'S TEIAL. 

" Yes, I do ; but there 's them that won't. I '11 
fix it. Land! there's three-o'clock bell over to 
Noppit; lecter preparatory, but I ain't goiii'. I 
must hurry up. Good-by, child ; I '11 be here airly 
in the mornin'. Keep up your sperits ! ' 

But " spirits " will not come at call, and Clary 
sank into despondence as soon as Polly's face dis 
appeared. She was roused again by the constable, 
who fetched her some supper and a pillow, and 
when dusk fell, worn out by emotion, she laid her 
weary limbs along the cot, and fell fast asleep. 

It was at the dead of night that she awoke, 
hearing her name again ; this time it was Alonzo 
Jakeway ; her heart bounded as she recognized his 
voice. But it sank to deeper depths when he made 
known the object of his visit: it was to tell her 
that if she would marry him at once he would pay 
the fine and set her free. Here was a trial fit for 
a martyr of old time ; she had but to do that which 
her heart had all along prompted, and she was saved. 
But there was one question first to ask : - 
" You know I did n't steal them, Lon ?" 
" I do' know who knows it better," was the surly 
rep]y. " Look here, Clary Kent, I 've got ye now, 
tight and sure. I 've planned and plotted on 't 
along back, so 's it should be tight and sure. I 
put them stockin's there, for I meant to get a grip 
on ye. Now take your choice, to be stripped 
and whipped, or marry me. If you 're a halfway 
decent gal, you won't demur much." 

Clary sprang back from the grating, all her blood 



CLARY'S TRIAL. 221 

on fire with the dastardly insult. She seemed to 
grow tall and strong ; her voice, softer than any 
cooing flute, took on the ring of a clarion. 

" Go away ! " she said. " I had rather die than 
marry you now, Lonzo Jake way ! " 

" Wait a bit ! " he sneered. " I guess a fortnight 
'11 change your mind ; bread an' water an' locked 
doors is pretty convincing" and with an evil laugh 
he turned away and stole softly down the stairs. 

Poor Clary ! this was her bitterest hour. The 
bandage was torn from her eyes, and she saw the 
man no ! not the man she loved, but the real 
man, who had borne about as a garment the image 
and superscription of her God. Death would not 
have been as hard. In the agony of bereavement 
and disgust she tossed on her pallet till daybreak, 
and then she heard a heavy footstep toil up the 
stairs ; it was Polly Mariner. She said, trying to 
smile, 

" Well, dear, I can't fetch it about to-day. The 
feller that 's got the money he 's took an' gone off 
to Boston of an arrand, but he '11 come back, yes, 
he will ; he 's a-comin' shortly, and I 've left a billet 
for him. You '11 hev to stay here a spell, mabbe, 
but it '11 all come right." 

Clary looked at her with dull eyes. " There 
won't ever anything come right any more," she 
said stupidly ; and this was the fixed belief of her 
soul. 

In vain Polly brought her food of the nicest she 
could prepare, decent clothing, a Bible, a hymn- 



222 CLARY'S TRIAL. 

book, Boston's "Fourfold State," and Jenks's "De 
votion," her whole store of literary amusement ; or 
thrust through her grating early apples and late 
peaches, or musky bunches of wild grapes ; she 
could not coax a smile over the beautiful wan face, 
or instill a spark of hope into the breaking heart. 

She had told Clary the truth, as far as it went. 
She found Guy Morgan had gone to Boston, and 
she left a letter to be given him as soon as he re 
turned ; but for security the black boy who waited 
on the office slipped the queer, ragged note into a 
legal volume, and then forgot all about it. Polly's 
errand had been vainer than she knew, 

So the days wore on : Clary still in the dull des 
olation that possessed her, and Polly fuming to her 
self at Guy's delay. She would have made another 
journey to Litchfield, but she dare not leave Clary 
alone ; some vague fear was always present with her 
when she saw or recalled the girl's set face ; so she 
waited as well as she could, not for Guy alone, but 
for the result of measures she had taken long before 
to deliver Clary from Alonzo's net. More than once 
or twice in the dead of night the desperate man 
visited Clary again, and poured threats and per 
suasions through the grating, but never did he re 
ceive any answer of word or look. Still he clung 
to the belief that at the last moment he should con 
quer, and went away in that conviction ; for he 
could no more understand her pure and lofty nature 
than a worm of earth can interpret the seraphs of 
heaven. 



CLARY'S TRIAL. 223 

At last the end of these weary hours drew Dear. 
Miss Polly, grown desperate, dispatched Pete Steb- 
bins by sunrise to Litchfield with a strenuous mes 
sage to Guy Morgan. But the day crept on, and 
he did not come, for the axle of Pete's old wagon 
gave out halfway there, and he had first to clear 
the road of the obstruction, and then walk the re 
maining five miles ; happily for Polly, she knew 
nothing of this delay. It was the first day of Oc 
tober, and the languid splendor of early autumn 
brooded in soft glory over the low hills about Blis- 
set ; the woods were lit here and there by a scarlet 
bough, and one great maple like a torch of fire 
flamed on the little green ; nothing stirred, but the 
sad chirping of the crickets rose sharp and griev 
ous as a dirge from the damp g.rass, and now and 
then a wailing south wind shed a bright leaf softly 
to the ground. A ring of curious people crowded 
already about the whipping-post, and close by it 
stood Alonzo Jakeway, waiting for his victim's 
appearance. 

Just at ten o'clock the constable came down the 
stairs of the strong room, leading Clary; her white 
feet were bare below her short stuff petticoat, re 
vealing their exquisite shape and dimpled beauty, 
and over her shoulders a dark blue blanket was 
loosely thrown. 

In her cell she had only the simplest necessities 
of toilet, so she had knotted the rich masses of her 
hair loosely on the top of her head, tucking in the 
ends to keep it in place as well as she could. Her 



224 CLARY'S TEIAL. 

beautiful, despairing face was like moulded alabas 
ter, so pure, so pallidly transparent, and her great 
brown eyes were filled with unutterable woe. She 
was brought forward, and her hands passed around 
the post and lashed there. Alonzo Jakeway went 
up to her and whispered a word. She looked at 
him as one who saw him not ; but when the consta 
ble, with sudden roughness, tore the blanket from 
her back, and the sculptural shoulders and ivory 
neck were bared to sight, over every glistening sur 
face and perfect outline a scarlet flush swept like 
the reflection of sudden flame, and in the agony 
of outraged womanhood an appeal burst from her 
parted lips : 

" O Lon ! Lon ! save me ! " 

But like a tiger gloating over his prey, the man, 

who was less man than brute, stood moveless. A 

fierce and bestial joy filled his soul; he saw this 

proud girl humbled to the ground, and was greedily 

glad ; his hunger of wrath and revenge tasted blood, 

and as his red and eager eyes met hers with a look of 

scorn, the uplifted lash descended along those snowy 

shoulders, and a piercing, horrid shriek rent the 

air as a long purple welt marked the smooth and 

polished skin. But hardly was the constable's arm 

raised again when something burst madly through 

the crowd ; the whip was torn from his hands ; the 

thono-s that bound her cut apart ; and as if the lash 

had Btong her to life, Clary's first instinctive motion 

was to lift her hand, and loosening her heavy hair 

drop its dusk veil over her shouUers. She did not 



CLASPS TRIAL. 225 

see how like a flash Alonzo Jakeway was sent flat 
to the ground, nor yet that the interposer in her 
behalf was Guy Morgan, whose black horse stood 
now foaming and panting, while his master counted 
out the fine to the indignant constable. Polly 
Mariner, sobbing and chattering, got a big camlet 
cloak about poor Clary, and led her away to her own 
house. 

And now into this homely drama, in the com 
monplace chariot of a creaking chaise, entered 
another actor, who should have been here long be 
fore if winds and waves had not delayed Polly 
Mariner's letter to Liverpool. When Alonzo Jake- 
way recovered from the thorough thrashing which 
Guy Morgan proceeded to give him with the same 
lash that had seared Clary's shoulders, his eyes 
opened on the living face of Mary Harris, his wife, 
to whom Polly Mariner had written, sending all her 
little savings that she might come to Blisset and 
prove her rights. 

It was in the eternal fitness of things that she 
should never after forgive Polly for this interven 
tion, for on her head, with the cowardice and bru 
tality of his nature, Alonzo visited his anger and 
unsated cruelty ; and no one who knew him ex 
pected any better result. But she had saved Clary 
from the like fate, Polly thought, and that was 
enough for her ; for to no human being did the 
poor girl ever reveal her midnight interviews and 
her murdered affection. Clary lay long at Polly 
Mariner's house ill of a dreadful fever, and when 



226 CLARY'S TRIAL. 

at last she recovered, Heaven visited her, in mercy, 
with utter oblivion of the past; she was even more 
intelligent and lovely than ever, but her memory 
was a blank. Under Polly's care she was taken to 
Boston, and put in charge of an old lady, one of 
Guy's friends, who was rich and lonely, and ro 
mantic enough even in her age to sympathize with 
young love. Here the poor girl found shelter, pro 
tection, and affection in her new world of con 
sciousness ; and here she received for a few years 
the training and education of a lady. 

It was nothing to her that Alonzo Jakeway be 
came a hopeless drunkard and died like his father 
before him, or that Polly Mariner, her truest 
friend, fell a victim to that typhus fever which de 
cimates some New England towns at uncertain in 
tervals. 

Clary had no past ; and if ever her awakening 
intelligence questioned it, she was always answered 
that she was an orphan, and Mrs. Grey had taken 
her when she was very ill. In time Guy Morgan 
visited her, and renewed the attentions she did not 
remember ; and now she received them with shy 
sweetness, for she loved him as fervently as she 
had loved Alonzo. After their marriage they went 
to live in a flourishing Western city, and Clary was 
for a lifetime the pride and delight of his home 
and heart, transmitting her beauty as a heritage to 
children and grandchildren, who are to this day as 
i<morant as she mercifully remained till the hour of 

O 

her death of Clarv's Trial. 



A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 

" GIRLS don't know anything anyhow ! " 

Sally laughed, though the tears stood in her 
bright eyes, as grandma Jopp snapped out her 
formula of contempt ; but the old lady neither 
minded the gentle laugh nor the shining tears ; she 
had " found liberty," and her voluble tongue took 
up the role again. 

" You don't know what you 're a-comin' to, Sally ; 
you 're only a girl ; you think gittin' married is all 
honey and posies, but I 'm an old woman, seventy 
year old, married fifty year ago, and I know suthin'. 
Land ! how yer granther used ter dance round me 
when I was a gal ! There want nothin' too good 
for me them times, nothin' too slick for him to say. 
I was a beauty, and a poppet, and sweetheart, and 
dear knows what all. It 's mawkish to think on 't 
now. I don't say but what I was as big a fool as 
you be. I did set by him a heap, but land's sakes ! 
't was over with quicker 'n nothin', after we 'd ben 
married a spell, an' settled down to stiddy grind. 

" There wa'n't a lot o' honey and posies in get- 
tin' a biled dinner, doing hay-makers' washin', bilin' 
soap, an' pig-killin' time. I tell ye its work, work, 
work, for poor folks ; and if you know what 's good 
for ye, you '11 take up with Squire Simmons, 'nd 
let Joe Hazard go to sea." 



228 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 

" I hate Squire Simmons," ejaculated Sally, 
drawing up her slender figure to its height, and 
coloring with indignation. " I 'd ruther be an old 
maid ten times over than marry him." 

" Well, there 's wuss things than bein' an old 
maid : ef you 're capable, and pleasant, and smart, 
you 'd jest as good be an old maid as be a poor 
man's wife." 

" Depends on who the poor man is," put in Sally 
demurely. 

" Well, you know the old sayin', Sally, ' When 
poverty comes into the door, love flies out o' the 
winder.' " 

" That 's because people open the windows," 
laughed Sally. 

" Oh, go 'long ! you 're a master hand to jump 
the fence, but some day you '11 rek'lect what I tell 
ye, and wish you 'd counciled with grandmother 
Jopp." 

" Well, grandma, if I do, I '11 tell you so." 

" Shaw ! you won't hev me to tell. I shall be in 
my grave long afore you get to that p'int, Sally." 

" I never knew anybody die yet that was always 
expectin' to, grandma. I 'in quite certin you will 
live at least ten years after I 'm married." 

" Then you be a-goin' to marry Joe Hazard ? " 
eagerly retorted the old woman. 

Sally sat down in the chair by which she was 
standing, and laughed till the tears rose in her eyes, 
for just as grandma Jopp faced round upon her 
with this question, neatly dodging the matter of 



A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 229 

her own living or dying, Sally saw Joe Hazard's 
curly black head and laughing eyes thrust through 
the morning-glories before the further window. 

"Yes, inarm, I reckon she is," shouted the un 
daunted Joe, and grandma whirled round again to 
confront this unexpected visitor. 

" Well, if you hain't got the most brass," was 
her breathless remark, as she glared at him over 
her spectacles. 

" Good sea-goin' metal, ain't it ? " inquired he 
with comic gravity. 

" You 've got enough on 't to sink a ship. I 
advise ye to take to dry land," snapped grandma. 

Joe began to sing under his breath " Cease, rude 
Boreas," which sent Sally into fresh fits of laugh 
ter, and running out of the farmhouse, she cap 
tured the offending party, and they both sat down 
on the south doorsteps to hold sweet converse to 
gether, for Sally was not in the least frightened by 
her grandmother's grim experience and advice. 
She was filled with diviner lessons ; dreams of 
youth and love that laugh at experience, and be 
lieve their world is the world, and their life the life 
of all humanity, that grief is the exception, and 
happiness the rule ; that " now " is eternal, and love 
immortal. 

Sweet souls ! it is " a trailing cloud of glory " 
from their last home, and it is to life what the 
flower is to the fruit, the calyx to the flower, the 
shoot to the calyx, the seed to the shoot. But for 
its shelter, its folding warmth, its strong hope and 



230 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 

faith, the buds, yea, the very germs of life would 
faint, wither, die, and we should reap no harvest, 
be gathered into no heavenly garners hereafter. 

Grandmother Jopp was an ordinarily pleasant 
and sensible old lady, but, like most of her type, 
she thought as people said of her, that " There 
ain't much she don't know, an' what she don't 
know ain't worth knowin'." 

It did not occur to her that a more affectionate 
nature, a gentler spirit, less selfishness and impa 
tience on her own part, would have made married 
life easier and sweeter both for her and her hus 
band ; but grandpa Jopp was a silent, slow, weakly 
sort of man, and while his wife scolded and found 
fault with him, he only looked wretched and kept 
out of her way as much as he could ; so naturally 
enough, she thought herself in the right. He did 
it "for peace's sake," poor cowardly soul! una 
ware that in the wars of matrimony, as in the wars 
of nations, it is necessary to conquer a peace. A 
good sound rating, or even a sturdy shake, would 
have restored the balance of power, and given 
him his right position ; but he dared not assert 
himself so, and went on into his grave, the de 
spised servant of a wife who ought to have loved 
and respected him, and been a comfort instead of a 
curse. 

Joe Hazard was not of this sort, nor was Sally 
Hart fashioned after her maternal grandmother's 
type ; her dark red hair, her soft, deep hazel eyes, 
her merry, cheery nature, and tender, faithful soul, 



A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 231 

all came from the Hart side of the family, and 
promised a safe harbor for even a sailor's roving 
heart. Sally had been " down to salt " at Matoo- 
noc beach three years in succession with aunt 
Lyddy, grandma Jopp's eldest daughter, a widow 
with some property and a great deal of asthma, for 
the relief of which she visited the shore every year, 
taking Sally with her for company, since she was 
the only niece the childless woman had. They 
boarded in one of the gray, weather-beaten houses 
that dot the meadows along the Rhode Island 
shore, houses so dim and misty in their tempest- 
vvorn hue that they seem like feeble mezzotints 
'aintly outlined against the sparkling, heaving sea 
oefore, or the verdant stretch of grassy fields be- 
lind them. 

But the inhabitants were kindly, and board was 
?heap ; fish, chickens, eggs, were plenty ; vegeta 
bles grew for the planting ; the great Narragansett 
iwamp afforded blueberries in abundance, and the 
nils were set thick with huckleberry bushes, and 
railed over by bounteous dewberry vines. It was 
i simple, quiet, homely place. Aunt Lyddy's hus- 
>and had a sister living three miles back from the 
hore, and she had found them a boarding-place 
vith Sam Tucker, whose wife was glad enough to 
jet a little money for her own and her children's 
.dornment. 

It was all very well for Sally at first, this quiet 
armhouse and this lonely shore. She spent her 
ays out of doors entirely, though with the thrifty 



232 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 

instinct of New England, she carried her knitting 
or her tatting along ; but these were soon disposed 
of in her pocket, and while her aunt sat on the 
fish-house steps, or made herself at home in the 
hot sun and the sand, glad enough of a free breath, 
and resting her tired lungs, Sally scoured the beach 
far and near: gathered stones to fill her basket; 
fished up seaweed from the whispering fringes of 
foam; gathered " money -purses" and "salt cel 
lars " by the dozen ; wondered under which gray 
old boulder, planted deep mid sand and sea, Cap 
tain Kidd's hoard lay sleeping ; or, tired of roam 
ing, came back and sat beside aunt Lyddy, and 
watched the long green rollers come roaring up the 
sand, rearing their tossing, shining manes high in 
air, white and light with myriad foam-bells, only 
to dash them on the shivering shore, with the soft 
rush and crush of breaking bubbles and sliding 
seas, that recoiled for fresh assault, and returned 
with new splendors of beryl depths and fleecy crests, 
to roar and fall again. Splendid vision ! which a 
worn and weary heart could watch forever, losing 
in this vast, dumb force and glory its own sense of 
present anguish or despair, and feeling in every 
fibre the sad sweetness of that mighty soul that 
fled from its temple in such a sea, but breathed out 
first in human words such human longing 

" I could lie down like a tired child, 
And breathe away this life of care 
Which I have borne, and still must bear, 
Till death-like sleep should steal on me, 



A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 233 

And I should feel in the warm air 

My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea 

Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony." 

But Sally was young and a girl ! She craved 
life and variety, and she was getting woefully 
tired of the dull days before half her last sum 
mer at Matoonoc had gone, when, luckily for her, 
the Nancy Beers sailed into Boston Bay from a 
China voyage, and her second mate, handsome Joe 
Hazard, came home to see his "folks," and saw 
Sally Hart too. 

There was wailing and weeping among the beach 
girls when they saw Joe devoting himself, day after 
day, to this up-country creature. 

Were n't his own sort good enough for him ? 
Evidently Joe thought not. Cynthia Tucker, and 
Demy Hazard, and Bet Hazard, and Bed Joe 
Tucker's twins, for they were all Tuckers or 
Hazards at Matoonoc, all these had set their vari 
ous caps in vain at Joe, ever since he was a man 
and a mate on the Nancy Beers, instead of boy or 
common sailor ; for Joe had taken to the sea since 
he was big enough to take to anything, and had 
worked his way up ; but now, after all their fasci 
nations had failed, after blue eyes, gray eyes, green 
eyes, had tried their darts in vain, after every fem 
inine charm of his own neighbors and friends had 
proved useless, here was a girl from up-country, a 
A'hite, slim thing, had but to look at him, and he 
vas captured. 

" I dono what he sees in that red-headed thing," 



234 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 

snapped Demy Hazard. " She can't no more row 
a boat than she can stan' on her head. I scar't 
her to death most, t' other day, when we was out a 
bathin', a-pullin' on her out into a breaker." 

" She ain't no more into her 'n a piece o' rag 
weed," chimed in one of the Tucker twins, " she 
can't dig a clam. I fetched her round to the salt 
pond a Saturday, 'n' I '11 be drownded ef she did 
n't ketch up a cr:Jb to look at it. Did n't it ketch 
her, though ? I tell you she hollered like a gale 
o' wind." 

" Well, I expect Joe '11 suit himself ; menfolks 
do, mostly," sighed Cynthia Tucker, who was occu 
pied along with the rest in the pleasant amusement 
of clawing reluctant clams from their sandy bed, 
with a sort of tool compromised between a rake and 
a hoe. 

Demy laughed, but Bet Hazard, who was the old 
est of the crowd, and in virtue of her sense, her 
years, and her experience, something sarcastic, 
growled out in a deep voice : 

" I expect they do ! I dono who 'd xmdertake to 
suit 'em. I 'd ruther sail a pinky round Pint Judy 
pint in a sou'easter then pick out a man's gal for 
him. A man hed oughter git leave to choose his 
own boat 'nd his own wife, I say ; an' ef he don't 
git it, he giner'lly takes it ; 'specially ef he 's a 
Hazard." 

There was no doubt Joe belonged to that family. 
In any other, his inherited name of Josiah never 
would have been shortened into Joe ; and his dark, 



A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 235 

crisp curls, his flashing black eyes, his clear brown 
skin, attested convincingly his descent ; for the 
" black Hazards " were as well known about the 
shore as the Black Douglas in Scotland. 

As for Sally, she found it mighty pleasant to 
have a devoted admirer fall at her feet in this des 
ert ; she was used to it at home, and thought little 
of three or four scalps dangling at her belt ; but 
here she had been dull for a long time ; the swains 
of Baxter had not followed her, for the good reason 
that they were following the plough, or wielding the 
hoe just at present, and had no time to philander 
round the country in their Sunday clothes. But 
here was a handsome, bright, active young fellow, 
who had capitulated at once, and become her de 
voted attendant. Now there were no more lonely 
walks on the shore ; under his guidance and care 
she walked over the bare gray hills to gather ber 
ries ; was borne in a little rowboat over the tran 
quil bosom of the salt ponds, and taught to catch 
sprawling crabs with a scoop-net, not to take them 
in her fingers. For her Joe brought luxuriant clus 
ters of great rhododendron blossoms, cool, fair 
blooms of rose and white, from the borders of the 
Great Swamp ; dripping armfuls of ivory water- 
lilies from its deeper recesses and frequent pools ; 
spires of too fragrant clethra ; garlands of pale 
wild roses ; quaint garnet blossoms of the dwarf 
pitcher plant ; and rare, wild coreopsis flowers 
tinted like a shell, and shyly fragile as a dryad 
might be. 



236 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 

Moreover, he persuaded her so far out of her 
terrors of the sea that she learned to enjoy a fish 
ing-party in a whaleboat, and to draw in a big 
bluefish as deftly as Demy Hazard herself ; he 
taught her to paddle a canoe on the lonely, fresh 
ponds that hid their crystal depths in the forests 
of the Swamp ; to trace those paths that wound 
their narrow and devious way from one of these 
desert jewels to the other ; and even (on a rainy 
day, to be sure !) to learn the whole economy of 
a brig, from boom to jibber -jib, for the Nancy 
Beers was a brig, and Joe understood her rigging 
if anybody did! 

Poor Joe, he longed to risk his fate too soon, 
and would have done so, but that Sally, with the 
tact of a woman, avoided and averted his declara 
tion till he almost feared to speak, and then, just 
as he was getting desperate enough to throw himself 
at her head for certainty's sake, he was called away 
to Boston on ship's business ; and though he hur 
ried back, aunt Lyddy and Sally had gone home 
before he reached the beach, and the honest fellow 
took it for a finality, and departed on the long voy 
age, both sad and sore. 

It must be owned that the youths of Baxter did 
not compare well in Sally's eyes with handsome 
Joe, though she found their devotion unabated ; 
and it must also come to light that her eyes glis 
tened and her heart beat suspiciously over a pack 
age that arrived for her by express from Boston, 
containing a delicate China crape handkerchief, a 



A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 237 

chain of crystal beads, and a few rare and beauti 
ful shells, all wrapped up in a paper which adver 
tised the Nancy Beers' sailing on Monday, August 
30th, and this was Monday ! 

Yet such is the involution and wonderful struc 
ture of the female character that if Josiah Haz 
ard had asked Sarah Hart to marry him, she would 
have refused without compunction or reserve of 
hope ; while by an unintentionally judicious si 
lence, he awoke a mild pique, an indefinite un 
easiness ; and then had the wisdom equally 
unconscious to send her a nameless gift that yet 
named its giver, and kept him always in mind. 

The long, dull winter did not serve to banish Joe 
from Sally's mind ; she could not but think of him, 
when the storms howled frantically through the 
forest, and shook her mother's little brown house 
with invisible blows. When rain and snow blotted 
out the sweet skies, she transferred the weather of 
her inland town to the far-off Nancy Beers, and 
pitied Joe mightily. Well for her that she did not 
see the lucky fellow, sailing over warm and tranquil 
seas, scampering up and down the rigging, telling 
yarns and cracking jokes with the two or three pas 
sengers, and behaving himself generally like a man, 
as he was, and by no means the sentimental idiot 
Sally thought him. 

Sally did not go to the beach with aunt Lyddy 
next summer, for her mother was seized with con 
sumption early in the spring, and though she was 
only her stepmother, yet she had never known any 



238 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 

other, and loved her dearly. Poor Sally ! her fa- 
ther had long been dead, and she was the only 
child ; for ten years she and her mother had lived 
there alone, and grown together as two lonely wo 
men will, unless they quarrel. Now she was so 
absorbed in her new fears, her unusual care, her 
wearing anxiety, that it gave her scarcely a regret 
to see aunt Lyddy leave without her ; but she took 
a special interest in the shipping news, and read 
with care every arrival. But the Nancy Beers 
made a long voyage of it this time ; it was late in 
August when she was reported, and in the marine 
news was only a short paragraph stating the death 
of the first mate on the way home, killed by a fall 
ing spar in a gale, and the promotion of Josiah 
Hazard to fill his place. It was unusual enough to 
report such a small matter as this in a merchant 
vessel, and Sally blushed and dimpled over the par 
agraph, with a certain consciousness that it had 
been inserted to meet her eye, and she was really 
sorry she should not see Joe this year ; aunt Lyddy 
was home now, so there was no chance of hearing 
of him. 

Miss Sally reckoned without her host. The 
first days of September were warm and clear ; the 
windows of the little brown house were set wide to 
catch the sweet air, a few late roses and a bed of 
luxuriant mignonette perfumed the gentle breeze 
that swayed Sally's rich curls as she sat on the 
doorstep with her sewing, while her mother slept; 
perhaps it was the rustle of that breeze in the lilacs 



A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 239 

and rosebushes close beside her that prevented her 
hearing a step on the path ; but she felt a shadow 
on her sunshine, and looked up to see handsome Joe 
Hazard standing in the soft blaze, smiling like a bit 
of sunshine himself. 

Sally was gladder to see him than she meant to 
be, and showed it, and Joe sat down beside her on 
the doorstep, lest they should waken the invalid. 
For the same reason their voices were lowered to a 
confidential pitch, and though Joe, being a native 
gentleman, forbore to harass Sally with an obtrusive 
exhibit of his own plans and hopes, he did contrive 
to get leave to come again before he sailed, and 
say good-by ; for his furlough would be short this 
time. So in a week he reappeared, and persuaded 
Sally to take a walk with him to the Lake shore, 
where they sat comfortably down on a log and took 
counsel together ; on what matters may be inferred 
from the parting words. 

"You'll think on 't now, won't ye, Sally? I 
won't plague for a real yes or no, now, for I see 
you 've got a stormy voy'ge afore you, and you 
ain't clear how to lay your head yet. We ain't 
a-goin' to Chiny this year, only down to Rio ; our 
owners hev changed their trade, or ruther we 've 
changed owners; so 's 't Providence permittin', as 
aunt Judy sez, I shall heave anchor in the Bay by 
next June sartain. Can I come an' see ye then ? " 

" We-e-11," said Sally slowly, tracing a square 
on the sand with the point of her parasol as delib 
erately as if her life depended on making four right 



240 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 

angles, "I don't know but what it's a free 
country, Mr. Hazard ; I suppose you can go where 
you 're a mind to," and with that she gave him such 
a distracting, bewitching little sidelong look from 
under her thick, dark lashes that Josiah forgot 
himself entirely, and a faint little scream from 
Sally might have given him the idea that she did 
not like to be kissed, but he did not quite seem to 
understand it so. 

And with that he departed, as sure of Sally as 
if they had been married a week ; for the vanity 
and self-confidence of a youth like Joe are amaz 
ing. Sally was by no means so sure ; she returned 
to her nursing and her anxiety, a little ashamed of 
herself, and very uncertain as to what she had or 
had not tacitly promised ; and it was not without 
some indignation that she received by mail, a few 
days after, a genuine love letter from Joe, and a 
tiny box with a pearl ring in it, both of which she 
consigned to the farthest corner of her locked 
drawer, since the Nancy Beers had sailed, and she 
could neither answer nor return the epistle or the 
gift. 

Before winter her mother failed to an alarming 
extent, and by the New Year she was dead. Sally 
grieved long and deeply, but she was young : the 
springs of life and hope were still elastic within 
her; health fortified her spirits, and unacknow 
ledged happiness consoled her ; for Joe would keep 
writing to her tender, manly letters, by every 
chance he got, letters that asked for no answer, 



A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 241 

hut seemed to know her loneliness, understand her 
need, and bring her help just when and where it 
was wanted. Before she knew it, Sally Hart found 
herself " fathoms deep " in love, and when June 
came and brought Joe with it, there were few pre 
liminaries to be arranged before she consented to 
wear the pearl ring on her third finger, and to give 
Joe the promise which he so saucily flung in grand 
mother Jopp's face. 

Sally did not mean to be married right away, 
but circumstances were too much for her. Joe was 
to have the post of first mate in a fine new ship in 
the China trade, owned by his old employers ; but 
his next voyage would be a long one, though he did 
not sail till September, and he could not leave Sally 
homeless till such time as he should return ; for 
though she was just now staying with grandma and 
aunt Lyddy, he knew that the atmosphere in that 
house was by no means tranquil or cheering, and 
that Sally was neither mistress of her actions nor 
her time. 

" What 's the use, Sally ? " pleaded Joe. " You 
won't have me round but a plaguy small share o' 
the time, let me be to home all I can fix it. Then 
if you 're settled down to the beach, aunt Lyddy 
3an stay there jest as much as she wants ter. You 
won't need to be lonesome an hour, either, there 's 
:oo many Hazards 'nd Tuckers down there to let ye 
Dine for company." 

" A hazardous sort of place, is n't it ? " asked 
sally demurely ; but simple-minded Joe did not at 



242 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 

once take the pun. He stared at her with blank 
eyes, then they suddenly lit up, and a loud laugh 
followed. 

" Ain't you smart ! I say for 't : Sally, you be a 
clipper. Mebbe it '11 be so hazardous you '11 get 
tuckered out ! There ! " 

And with a fresh explosion of laughter Joe 
launched his first and only pun. It took little 
more persuasion to fetch Sally round to Joe's wish, 
so he left her to go home and furbish up the old 
gray house that had been his father's. Sally be 
took herself to her own simple preparations, and 
the second week in July they were married in 
grandmother Jopp's parlor, and went home, aunt 
Lyddy, with preternatural tact, refusing to go with 
them, but promising a long visit in September, 
when Sally would need her more. 

A happy couple indeed they were, in more than 
the conventional term, when they began life to 
gether in that old house. Joe had taken Demy Haz 
ard to Boston with him to pick out some chintz for 
chairs and curtains, and with surprising taste for a 
longshore girl she had not only selected the pat 
tern and texture, regardless of Joe's pocket, it must 
be owned, but she had offered to get up a sewing 
bee and cover the furniture for him. Joe was such 
a universal favorite that the clan had already for 
given him for choosing an inland wife, and they all 
fell to work with zeal, so that when he and Sally 
alighted from the rickety wagon sent to the station 
to fetch them, the house stood open and homelike, 



A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 243 

and Demy welcomed them at the door, but dis 
creetly slipped away ; while Sally took off her hat 
and diist-cloak upstairs, and then went over the 
house hand in hand with Joe. It was an old house, 
built New England fashion, with two square rooms 
either side of the front door, a twisted staircase in 
the narrow entry, and a kitchen behind, off one end 
of which a bedroom was partitioned, and off -the 
other a big pantry ; there were two bedrooms up 
stairs, while a long loft or garret under the sloping 
roof ran from side to side over the kitchen and its 
end rooms. It is true the furniture was old and 
quaint ; but Demy had covered the great stuffed 
sofa with soft, thick cretonne, a gray ground strewn 
with deep red carnations, and blue sea-pink flow 
ers ; the chairs were re-cushioned with the same 
stuff, and curtains of it hung before the windows ; 
there was a dark gray carpet on the floor, with a 
coral pattern of scarlet in two shades, a red and 
blue cloth on the round table, where also were 
gathered Joe's foreign treaures, a Japanese idol 
or two, a few shells, one of them holding wild roses 
in its pink convolutions, a Chinese basket of foreign 
nuts, and the big family Bible in the midst of all. 
The room might have looked gaudy but for the low 
ceiling, the gray walls, the small-paned windows ; 
but as it was, there was only an aspect of cheer and 
warmth, and a delicate odor of roses. The other 
room was all of Joe's ordering ; he had brought its 
slight bamboo chairs, its settee of the same type, 
the nests of teapoys, the scarlet and black waiters 



244 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 

that leaned against the wall, even the delicate mat 
ting, home in the Nancy Beers ; and the dreadful 
dragons, the puffy mandarins, the toppling pago 
das nailed against the wall, relieved one's mind, 
since they were pictured on rice paper, from a 
dread of their long and ugly endurance. A corner 
cupboard held a set of curious China for tea-drink- 
ings, and a few old spoons, quaint enough to match 
the cups, this was the summer parlor. The 
kitchen shone with neatness ; the teakettle sung al 
ready on the stove, the table was laid for two, and 
in the pantry good store of fresh bread, yellow 
butter, cake, berries, and pies, contributed by 
friendly neighbors, promised more present solace 
than the ungainly pots of foreign sweetmeats Joe 
had thought it necessary to provide. It was a 
simple, clean, cheerful old house, set in the mid 
dle of a flat green field, but it seemed a little 
paradise to these lovers, and the mighty diapason 
of the sea did not daunt them, for they had each 
other. 

However, when September came, and Josiah had 
gone, Sally began to feel that there is a price to 
pay in this world for even natural and honest hap 
piness. She thought she had been lonely before, 
but what had it been ? nothing to this ! Poor child ! 
she had not known her own measure, her own pos 
sibilities, nor were they yet fully tested. 

Aunt Lyddy came on her visit, and had all the 
news of Baxter at her tongue's end to relate, and 
then all the hospitalities of the beach to receive and 



A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 245 

return ; besides, it was the year's busy season to a 
housekeeper : Sally had fruit to dry, herbs to gather, 
apple-sauce to boil down, cranberries to store, her 
few house-plants to pot for winter companions ; she 
must see to the potatoes, the carrots, the cabbages, 
and put down her winter butter. Her deft hand, 
clear head, and good sense had won approbation 
and respect already from the housewives of Matoo- 
noc, who were not the most skillful or provident 
of their kind, but too apt to live like their hus 
bands, sailor fashion, from hand to mouth. But 
when aunt Lyddy went home, when the bright, 
still days of October were gone ; the hillsides, that 
had glowed like fields of blood with red huckle 
berry leaves, swept bare and gray ; the great swamp 
turned from a gorgeous mass of gold and purple, 
scarlet and green, to a low and leafless stretch of 
misty woodland ; when the splendid sapphire sea 
became a livid, sweltering ocean beneath a threat 
ening sky, and dashed its sullen anger on the shore, 
or, lashed by mighty winds, drove its mad tides high 
in air and far on land, with bits of wreck and 
naked vessels ; when fogs lay low and deep over 
land and sea, and the fog-horn from the lighthouse 
sent its wailing, warning note through the Dreary 
day and night ; then Sally's heart failed her, and 
she thought she knew what it was to be a sailor's 
wife ! 

Thank God, our lives come to us only day by 
day ! There are a few hours to endure, to work, 
to fight with dismay, and then there is a respite at 



246 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 

night, except for those who dream ; and Sally 
did not dream ; she was too healthy, too practical, 
too uninjured by trouble or pain to dream ; sleep 
came to her as the night did, a blessing from 
heaven, and even the fog-horn ceased to keep her 
ears or her eyes open after a brief experience. But 
we who dream, we who rehearse every sorrow in 
new and ghastlier form ; who recall the dead, with 
their averted eyes and alien speech, to mock our 
longing and baffle our grasp ; who predict our 
coming agonies and rehearse them, as it were, be 
forehand, even waking with the certainty of grief 
to come ; or, worst of all, renew in sleep the joys 
forever lost ; clasp with fond embrace and fervent 
caresses the little forms that land and sea separate 
from us ; see face to face, with tender recognition 
and welcoming kiss, the shape and countenance 
alienated from us for long, lingering years ; and 
then, from the keen rapture and joyful surprise, 
wake to find it all a dream, toe know what wear 
and tear to soul and body mortal suffering can bring, 
but we, too, thank God that it is to-day's burden 
only we have to bear, and not to-morrow's ; that 
we are taught and accustomed to pray only for our 
daily bread. 

So day by day the winter wore away for Sally. 
She had her work to do, which helped her, as work 
always does ; she had a chicken-coop behind her 
woodshed, and the fluttering inmates amused and 
occupied her somewhat ; the neighbors were very 
friendly; she had a comfortable, pleasant home, 



A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 247 

and little care ; and with unconscious philosophy 
she comforted herself, thinking how much worse 
off she might be, thoughts which are wonderfully 
consoling to all of us, if we can only think them ! 

Once or twice she heard from Joe, and more 
often she wrote to him, hoping some of her 
letters might reach him, much as she might hope a 
dry leaf, wind- whirled through space, would alight 
on any given shore ; but still she wrote. Spring 
brought her the comfort of outdoor life, the cheer 
of springing grass, of budding trees, of soft winds 
and showers, of work in her garden, and new life hi 
broods of bright-eyed chicks, fluffy yellow goslings, 
and queer little waddling ducks. She loved pets, 
from the cross old cat she had imported from Bax 
ter and waited on all winter, to the neighbor's 
droning horse that carried her to and fro to the 
occasional meeting, or to get the semi-weekly mail. 
She wished in her secret heart, with all the shy 
fervor of a young and childless wife, that Heaven 
would send her a little child of her own, to share 
her solitary, longing life, and make it blessed ; and 
for want of such a grant she loved all little living 
things, and felt hope bud and blossom in her heart 
as the spring went on and the birds came, and all 
things grew in life and strength ; for the dear 
words of our Lord came back from Nature's inter 
preting. "if He so care for these," and it seemed 
to her clear as a special revelation that Joe would 
also be cared for and returned to her* safely. 

Yet it was a long year and a long voyage. Sum- 



248 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 

mer came and went, and aunt Lyddy with it, but 
the Clio did not appear in Boston Bay ; hope grew 
sick, and faith almost despaired, till, in the middle 
of October, Joe came in one day to the still, clean 
kitchen, and put his arms round Sally, who had 
heard his step coming up the path, but in a very 
agony of joy could not rise to meet him. 

" Only one month ! " 

Sally looked into Joe's eyes two weeks after his 
coming with a look of pain and surprise hard to 
bear. 

" Well, Sally ! I wish to mercy I could help it. 
Bless you, my little girl, what in thunder would 
you do ef I was a whalin' cap'en ? three years a 
voy'ge, an' mebbe seven ; I 've knowed it so to be." 

" Do ! I 'd go with you " 

" Ho ! ho ! ho ! go with me ! I 'm blest if you 
would, dear ; a whaler ain't no place for women 
folks, now I tell ye. Ef I was only owner of the 
Clio you could go along, easy ; but a whaler I my 
eye ! how do you think you 'd stan' try in' out? " 

" But only a month, Joe ? " Sally recurred with 
feminine persistence. 

" That 's the record, Sally, sure 's you live." 

And seeing she could not help it, she resolved to 
be as cheerful and sweet as she could while her 
husband did stay ; she could cry and fret afterward. 
She had her reward. 

"The good Lord bless ye, little woman," said 
Joe, in a very husky voice, as he held her tight iu 
his arms, trying to say good-by under difficulties, 



A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 249 

" You Ve made it fair weather and easy sailin' for 
me ever sence I come home, an' you might ha' laid 
an entire different course, a sight easier, too ; but 
it 's allers ben sunshine an' fair winds, though 't was 
much as ever you could handle the ship. I shall 
think on 't heaps o' times a-keepin' watch, fair or 
foul, I tell ye." 

Before Sally could speak he was gone, leaving 
her heart in a glow, heavy as the parting was. 

This second year was not so hard for Sally, and 
when the Clio reached Canton there was a letter 
sent her that made her laugh and cry too, for it 
ran in this fashion : 

MY DEER SALLY, Here we be, safe to Chiny, 
after a kind of a dull voyage, never sightin' nothin' 
nor nobody so 's to hail 'em, save an' except a Brit 
isher, whereby I sent you a letter, but like enough 
this '11 get to you first. Also we had trouble 
aboard. Cap'en Green he fell down the hatchway 
one mornin' ; well, I don't say he need to, I dono 's 
he did, and I dono as he did, but when a man crooks 
his elbow pootty often, and afore breakfast too, 
why, he 's liable to trip over cables and sech, and 
I don't think he 's more 'n too fit to boss a vessel, 
which I never told you nothing about for fear you 
might get oneasy ; but the end on't is he had suthin' 
on the brain or in it, an' he lay a-ravin' an' a-tearin' 
a month, and then he up an' died two weeks afore 
we made port, so 't I 'm yours to command, 
Cap'en Hazard as sure as you live ! 



250 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 

P. S. You can go along next v'yage ef you 
want to. 

Your very luving husband, JOE. 

When the letter got to Sally she knew very 
well she could go no voyages with Joe ; there was 
another future before her, and one she by no means 
quarreled with, but fully meant to keep secret from 
him, actuated by the same reason that had kept him 
from telling her how incapable a captain commanded 
the Clio when she last sailed out of Boston. 

Time went faster now. Eai-ly spring brought 
aunt Lyddy, eager to help and full of interest, 
and the first of July actually saw grandmother 
Jopp " lighting down," as old ballads have it, from 
the station-master's wagon at Sally's door, in com 
pany with an obsolete hair trunk and a big band 
box much the worse for the wear and tear of bag 
gage-masters and travel. 

There was much bustle and sharp stir of prepa 
ration now in the old gray house ; store of tiny gar 
ments fluttering in the hot sun, and skillfully ironed 
by aunt Lyddy after their due bleaching. Grandma 
took charge of the poultry, and harried them to 
and fro till hens remonstrated, and geese came to 
open war, whenever her slat sunbonnet appeared 
out of doors. In short, the dynasty of the tranquil 
gray house was changing, and when on the second 
anniversary of Sally's wedding-clay a pair of sturdy, 
splendid boys appeared, the kingdom capitulated 
at once, and was given over to its double monarchy. 



A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 251 

If ever there was a happy woman in the world it 
was Sally Hazard ; she had not even the speck in her 
joy of Joe's absence, for she pleased herself,, lying- 
quiet in the still, cool chamber, with thinking how 
much anxiety his ignorance had spared him, how 
delicious his surprise would be to find such a wel 
come when he came home. So she lay there and 
watched her babies, worshiping them with an un 
disguised fondness that scared grandmother Jopp, 
but in obedience to tradition she treated Sally 
with great respect and tenderness, though it was 
mighty irksome to her soul to do so. 

" Land o' liberty, Lyddy ! " she exclaimed one 
morning, as she came into the kitchen fresh from 
a pitched battle with the geese, who would eat the 
chickens' food, and the belligerent old rooster, who 
would fight them to his own destruction. " I 'm 
tired o' mixin' and mussin' ! I wished ter gracious 
Sally 'd git raound agin. I 've ben a-goin' deli 
cately, like that old cretur in the Bible, 'bout as 
long as I can stan' it, a-whishin' here, an' a-hushin' 
there, and a-steppin' tippy-toe till my legs ache. 
I 'd give two cents for a firecracker, jest to hear 
somethin' pop an' done with 't. I 'm so tired of 
that everlastin' swash the water keeps up, an' that 
everlastin' ' Hush ' you keep up." 

Aunt Lyddy flared up in a weakly way : 

" Why, mother Jopp ! you do beat all ! You 
know Sally must be kep' quiet, now don't ye ? " 

" Well, I s'pose so, but I tell ye I 'm a goin' to 
stop till she 's outdoor agin and pootty well smarted 



252 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 

up, 'n' then I 'm a-goin' to free ray mind to her, 
you 'd better b'lieve ! " with which threat she strode 
once more into the ranks of greedy geese, and sent 
terror and dispersion into their souls by means of 
an old broom and a ragged apron wildly beating 
the air. 

Poor Sally ! only two weeks after, she sat in 
the summer parlor watching her precious babies 
asleep in either end of a long cradle she had 
found stored away in the garret, a relic of pre 
vious twins in the Hazard family, when grandma 
Jopp came in. 

" Are n't they lovely, grandma ? " she began ; 
just see how soft those little arms are, like satin ; 
and such pretty dimples on their hands ; are n't 
their heads lovely, too, so smooth and round, and 
such mites of curls. I don't believe anybody in 
the world ever saw such babies." 

" Sally, don't be a fool ! " was the rapid retort ; 
*' there 's ben heaps of babies in the world afore, a 
sight harnsomer than them little puckered things ; 
'n' I tell you what you 're a-makin' idols on 'em ; 
you love 'em too much, you jest worship 'em ! 
they '11 be took away from you awful quick, you 
see ef they ain't ! " 

" I don't believe it, grandma." Sally's eyes 
blazed, and her cheeks burned with maternal fury. 
" I don't believe mothers can love their children 
too much ; if they don't love 'em, how can they take 
care of them day and night, sick or well, tired or 
not ? I believe the Lord gave them to me to love. 



A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 253 

He ain't afraid I '11 over-love them ; He won't take 
them away for that, I know. I 'd be ashamed to 
think so hard of Him ! " 

" Why, Sary Hazard ; ain't you kinder profane ? 
'Pears as if you thought you was dredful intimate 
with the Lord's ways." 

" Well, I know He is good," snapped Sally, with 
an unspoken doubt in her heart as to grandma's 
own qualifications of that sort ; and then aunt 
Lyddy, hearing her mother's excited tones, came 
in and intimated war among the poultry, and be 
guiled the officious old lady from her post ; and 
the next day she went back to Baxter. 

Sally did not stint her babies of love ; she took 
them into her heart as she did into her arms, 
with close and warm folding. Their gentle baby 
breath lulled her to sleep ; she woke again and 
again to be sure of them, to spread their coverings 
straight, to turn them on another side for coolness, 
to kiss with soft passion the calm brows untraced by 
thought or care ; and then she slept again, like one 
who wakes from a happy dream and sleeps again 
more happily finding it is a waking truth. But she 
neither neglected her household nor weakly coddled 
her children. A young girl came to help her when 
aunt Lyddy left, and to her Sally delegated the 
housework while she took her babies out in the air, 
one on either arm, in the fresh autumn days, or 
put them to sleep in an old hammock, hung from 
two small trees by the shed door. The babies grew 
and thrived as babies will, and by November Sally 



254 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 

began to make ready for Joe ; but the month went 
on and on without him. Other vessels that had 
sailed since the Clio began to come in, and in 
answer to Sally's questions the owners of the ves 
sel could only reply that they had news of her leav 
ing port on the proper day, but none farther. 
Slowly the year fell into its latter days, but brought 
no more tidings. Sally was anxious, but all the 
shore people flocked to reassure her, and her cour 
age did not fail. Granny Tucker, the wise woman 
of the clan, had found and worked the key to the 
poor little mother's nature. 

" Keep your heart up, Sally," the bent and 
wrinkled old creature said ; " I 've come to see ye 
a good two mile jest to say that, keep your heart 
up ; them babies '11 pine away as sure as ye don't ; 
keep 'em pleasant 'an you keep 'em well ; bitter 
vittles ain't good for nobody, leastest of all for 
babies, and them little critters is dreadful close to 
the ma ; they 're too little to know better. You 're 
jest as good as God to them, an' how 'd you feel ef 
the Lord above darkened his face to folks ? You 
keep round ; Joe '11 turn up yet all right. Haz 
ards don't drown in water, now I tell ye ; they 're 
a lucky lot." 

And Sally was fortified more by this quaint ad 
vice than by all her own faith or sense, for it went 
to the heart of her heart, and flourished. It was a 
wonder to everybody how she kept strong and 
bright all that weary winter, and how the babies 
grew. If anybody hinted that Joe was lost, she 



A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 255 

resented it like an insult. Grandma Jopp sent her 
a letter of condolence and pious quotations, mixed 
with a great deal of complacent "I told ye so," and 
with it an old crape bonnet and veil of her own, 
laid aside as good as new, which Sally returned, 
with the letter inside, by the very next train, after 
a burst of angry tears, but with no answer or ac 
knowledgment. 

Spring came, but no word from Joe. If Sally's 
heart sank she did not show it to the piiblic ; she 
fought her own battles in secret for her babies' sake, 
and rushed out from under the accumulating fears 
and doubts that threatened to crush her, to that 
safe fold of love her darlings inhabited, seeking rest 
and strength from their rosy brave faces, their 
clinging arms, their soft lips at her bosom, their 
shining heads upon her breast, and never seeking 
in vain. They grew in the keen salt air and broad 
sunshine, with incredible vigor, their great dark 
eyes were bright and calm, their dimpled cheeks 
flushed with health, their voices sweet as the bird- 
voices in the woods, and by the time their birthday 
came they were able to run about the house, to 
stand at Sally's knee, to call the " papa " they had 
never seen, to mimic the dog, the cat, the chickens. 
Their growth and forwardness were the wonder of 
all the beach, and every man, woman, and child 
loved Sally's babies, for by this time they all knew 
Joe was dead. But Sally never gave in. 

" When be you going to wean them great chil 
dren ? " remonstrated aunt Lyddy. 



256 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 

" When Joe comes home," was the quiet answer. 
" I want them to be babies till he gets here." 

" Oh, Sally ! " whimpered Mrs. Lydia, moved to 
tears. 

"Aunt Lyddy, stop! Joe isn't dead!" the 
word came out with an effort. " He 's coming- 
back. I know he is. It 's no use for you to cry 
about it. I 'm the one to cry, if I did n't know 
better. Babies, call papa ! " and with a tiny, ring 
ing shout the unconscious creatures uttered the 
name they could not understand. 

" There ! " laughed Sally defiantly ; " he '11 come 
to hear that, aunt Lyddy ! " and the woman half 
believed her. 

But the babies called in vain ; the summer passed 
with no response. Autumn mocked the dying 
year again with idle splendors and elusive mists of 
glory : the frost nipped sharply all earth's tender 
things ; the north wind sounded its awful trumpet 
and hurled wild defiance at the surging sea ; light 
showers of snow drifted across the blue distance, 
and dropped their chill plumage on the earth, only 
to fade in dews in that salt air. It was November, 
it was Thanksgiving, and Sally, returned from 
dinner at uncle Samuel Hazard's, where the twins 
had been the pride and delight of the day, sat alone 
by the dying kitchen fire ; for her girl had gone 
home to her own people, to celebrate the festival, 
and the babies lay sound asleep upstairs in their 
mother's bed, hugging the spoils of the day that 
zealous cousins had heaped upon them : rag dollies, 



A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 257 

bright balls of worsted, knitted reins to drive the 
rocking-chairs by, all lay in their arms or scattered 
about the white coverlet. The beautiful curly 
heads, the dark-lashed eyes, the red lips, the dim 
pled arms, were all at rest, and Sally had left them 
at last to think her own thoughts beside the em 
bers. Her weary hands were clasped about her 
knees, and with drooping head and eyes, dim with 
coming tears, fixed on the flickering blaze, she sat 
there in the quaint old settle a picture to make 
one's heart ache : longing, wearying, agonizing for 
the one presence that could alone make the day a 
real Thanksgiving to her hungry heart, and praying 
with a certain desperation for Joe's return. She 
heard yet did not notice the swing of the little gate, 
the soft sand-muffled steps she should have known. 
A hand on the latch roused her ; she started up to 
see the door open, to find herself in Joe's arms ! 

It was a long time before she asked one question, 
had one thought but that Joe was there ; and when 
at last she roused to make a few inquiries, it 
proved to be the old story, the sailor story that 
has broken so many hearts with grief or joy, 
tempest, shipwreck, peril, rescue, and late resto 
ration ; but Sally was impatient of detail. 

" Joe ! " she cried, between tears and laughing, 
looking a very girl again, with quick blushes on 
her fair face, " Joe, it is Thanksgiving Day, and 
you have had no feast ; come upstairs, and put 
away these worn rags for your Sunday suit, and I '11 
get your supper." 



258 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 

" Jest as if it would n't ha' been Thanksgiving to 
me to-day ef 't was July, Sally. But I am kinder 
sharp-set, I allow. I 've driv all day to git here, 
and had only jest a bite to a tavern." 

But Sally was half-way up the stairs, and Joe, 
wondering at her unusual particularity about his 
dress, followed her to the bedside of his babies. 

A long breath heaved his great chest ; he looked 
at them, then at Sally, and fell on his knees at the 
bedside, and hid his face in the pillow without a 
word. It was the triumph of keen emotion over 
the reticent New England temperament, but only 
the triumph of a moment ; he lifted his head and 
looked at Sally, who stood crying and smiling like 
a rainbow, and a gleam of humor lit his suspi 
ciously shining eyes as he spoke. 

" 'T ain't fair to double up things on a feller so, 
Sally ! One Thanksgivin' was all I could steer : 
two on 'em 's agin chart an' compass. I vow ef I 
ain't shipwracked agin ! " 

But years after, when other children climbed to 
his arms or leaned against his knees, .there was no 
story they liked to hear or he loved to tell so well 
as the story of his " Double Thanksgiving." 



HOME AGAIN. 

" WHY can't you stay to home, Joseph, and work 
,he farm just as father done before ye ? " 

" Well, for one thing, mother, I don't hanker to 
York myself into an old man before my time, an' 
ive on pork and potatoes like a Paddy." 

Mrs. Gillett sighed. She was a thin, sad-eyed 
voman of forty-five, who had worked herself almost 
;o death, and lived all the time on pork, potatoes, 
ind pie, the triad of dyspeptic demons that rule in 
^ew England kitchens ; and she had no desires be 
yond her round. She did want to keep her boy at 
lome to be company and help to her ; he was her 
irst-born, and now the only child of his mother : 
;he other seven filled tiny graves under the daisies 
ind sorrel in Clinton churchyard. 

Her husband had died of a sunstroke in the corn- 
ield two years ago. He never made a will ; so 
mly a third of his personal property came to her : 
me third of a silver watch, one unbleached shirt, a 
eg and a third of his pantaloons, for he had two 
>a,ir, two out of six chairs, and so on, for his 
' personals " were few and poor. Joe got house and 
and. But she could trust her boy, and she looked 
'orward to a calm, eventless life in his house, think- 
ng to knit his stockings, tend his babies, make and 



260 HOME AGAIN. 

mend for his wife, till she herself should go to her 
place with her dead. Joseph, however, was of a dif 
ferent mind ; he was young and ambitious. To 
this time he had not made any definite plans for 
himself ; only fretted over his barren acres, his toil 
in frost and sun, his monotonous food, made pal 
atable only by hunger and outdoor labor, and his 
longing to be and do something better than his 
father had been or done. A night or two before 
our story begins he had met an old schoolmate at 
the village " store," grand resort of all the men 
near enough to make it a place for exchange of 
gossip, and that opinionated wrangle of ideas so 
precious to the heart of every true American, and 
there Harry Jenks had boasted loudly of his place 
in New York, and displayed on his handsome per 
son such clothes, such jewelry, and such glazed and 
astonishing linen that Joe's patched and rustic gar 
ments seemed to hurt him physically with the sharp 
sense of humiliating contrast ; but it was not the 
brilliant aspect of this butterfly alone that struck 
Joseph ; he was bewitched with the picture his for 
mer friend drew of the daily excitements and nightly 
amusements of city life ; his brain reeled with the 
ferment of new thoughts, his life seemed dull and 
stagnant as the water of the ditch that drained his 
swamp lots ; and before he left the store with his 
jug of molasses and bag of meal he asked Harry to 
look out for a place for him in New York. He had 
been "the best hand at figgers" in his school, and 
a sturdy honesty and common sense underlay this 



HOME AGAIN. 261 

;alent, fitting him by nature for the life of a busi- 
less man, though dormant within him lay a warm 
ind generous heart, and a repressed enthusiasm 
,hat must be still kept dormant if he expected suc 
cess. It was of no use for his mother to offer her 
'eeble arguments to his strong determination ; she 
elt this as she saw the look of uneasiness and con- 
empt with which he spoke of his life and labor. 
kVith womanly instinct she brought another motive 
o bear. 

" Does Cornelye know you 're goin' ? " 
Joe flushed to the roots of his dark hair. " No," 
le said sharply, " not yet." 

" I don't b'lieve she '11 like it," the poor woman 
njudiciously added. 

Joe's face hardened. " Then she '11 have to do 
' other thing." With which ungracious speech he 
yent out of the kitchen door to the barn. 

Cornelia Marvin was a delicate, gentle girl who 
aught school in Clinton, where she had been born, 
nd left a solitary orphan. Joe Gillett had known 
ier from his early childhood, and had drifted 
aturally enough into "keeping company" with 
er as they grew older. Cornelia clung to him 
/ith every fibre of her innocent, honest heart, and 
e accepted the homage with contented compla- 
ence, but rather as a matter of course than with 
lie vivid, ardent passion of a man for his true love 
nd future wife. No form of words had ever been 
ttered between them ; they passed for lovers in 
ae village gossip ; and who could see the girl's 



262 HOME AGAIN. 

great shy hazel eyes upturned to Joseph, the color 
coming and going in her cheek like the reflection of 
a wild rose in the brook it overhangs, without read 
ing in nature's own lovely language the story of her 
heart ? But all this was a trivial matter to Joe 
when his future called him. He might marry Nely 
some time, but at present there was his fortune to 
make, and he was glad that no pledge of speech or 
letter had ever given form to the idea of their en 
gagement : he was a free man. Yet he did not like 
to tell her of his plans ; he left the news to drift 
about till it reached her ; and but that she grew 
paler, and dismissed school at three o'clock one day 
because she had a dreadful headache, she made no 
sign. Women do grow pale and have the head 
ache for a thousand reasons, and who can tell 
whether it is indignation or heart-break ? 

Joe shook hands with her on Sunday, after 
church, and said, " Good-by, Cornelye. I s'pose 
you have heard I 'm going to York into a bank? " 

" Oh, yes," she answered, smiling. " I hope 
you '11 do great things, Joseph." And that was 
all. 

Tommy Hymny, as he was nicknamed, an odd 
character who served as chorus to all the village 

O 

tragedies and comedies, hobbled up just as they 
parted. 

" Dew tell ! goin' to York, be ye now ? 

' Mid scenes of confusion an' cretur complaints,' " 

he quavered out in his cracked voice. " Well, well, 



HOME AGAIN, 263 

well ! 't ain't more 'n a few Sabba' days sence I re 
member ye a-toddlin' to meetin' in petticoats 'long 
:> yer ma : 

' The creturs, look how old they grow, 
How old they grow, how old they grow, 
The creturs, look how old they grow 
An' wait their fi'ry doo-oo-oom ! ' 

[ guess you won't have to wait for it long down to 
Y ork, 'cordin' to the tell. 'T is pretty nigh to the 
*ates of the oncomfortable place, to speak within 
rounds like." 

" I guess not quite so bad as that, Uncle Tommy," 
>aid Joe with a laugh. " Harry Jenks ain't gone 
:o the bad yet." 

" I dono," said the old man sadly. " He 's got 
:ime enough yit ; the bad way 's dre'df ul smooth 
it first. 

' Broad is the road that leads to death, 

An' thousands walk together there ; 
But wisdom shows a narrer path, 
With here an' there a traveler.' " 

Sung to the lugubrious old tune of " Windham," 
something in words or measure gave Joe a sort of 
spiritual chill ; he turned away hurriedly from 
Tommy Hymny, who certainly had justified his nick- 
laine, and sought for Cornelia with a blind instinct, 
onging for some friendly look or word ; but her 
ithe and slender figure was far in the distance, and 
Foe turned homeward a little daunted at the lonely 
mtlook, glad to be once more by his mother's side. 
S\> such feeling staid with him long, however ; and 



264 HOME AGAIN. 

soon as supper was over he said to his mother, 
" Well, I 've settled everything for ye so far as I 
can. Deacon Hills will do well by the farm, and 
what you don't want of the produce he '11 sell for 
ye, and uncle 'Lias will haul to mill 'long of his 
corn whatever you want to grind, and Tommy 
Hymny '11 split and saw the wood, and see to such 
chores as you want him to see to ; but I ain't reaHy 
easy in my mind about your bein' here alone." 

" Well, Joe, I don't expect I shall be alone. I 
want to get settled to your bein' gone for a spell, 
an' then I '11 surely have somebody ; there 's wo 
men-folks enough 'round that 'II be glad to have 
their board for their comp'ny, an I '11 let ye know 
right off when I 'm suited with one." 

" I 'most wish you 'd take old Tommy in ; he 'd 
be a sight of help." 

"For mercy's sakes! Why, I couldn't stan' it 
noway. Men-folks have to be mended an' made for, 
an' they 're always masterful an' notional, particu 
lar an old bach like him ; an' I could n't never 
stan' his singin' hyrnns like an old cracked hurdy- 
gurdy, mornin', noon, an' night, whenever he see 
fit." 

" That is some nooisance, I allow. I wonder 
how he fell into 't ? " 

" Oh, he had a half -crazy kind of a aunt that 
fetched him up, an' she learnt him the hull hymn 
book through, so it come nateral to him to say it 
when 't was fittin', jest as some folks kote Scripter 
for every airthly thing, an' he was a real good 



HOME AGAIN. 265 

inger in his young days, so lie got sort of used 
o words an' tunes together, besides likin' real well 
o hear the sound of his voice. Folks give him 
lis nickname years ago. I dono as he reelly 
cnows by this time whether his hymns be said or 
ung, or whether his name is Hymny or Hin- 
nan." 

Joe yawned over the explanation, and sauntered 
ipstairs to pack his old valise. His mother's heart 
vas running over with tender counsel and motherly 
varning, but something in Joe's cool eye and care- 
ess manner shut her lips ; she could only carry her 
mrden to the feet of her Master, and leave it there 
or a power transcending even maternal love to lift 
ind bear it instead of her faltering strength. 

So Joe went to " York " the next day, and before 
;he week was over Cornelia Marvin had come to 
x>ard with Mrs. Gillett, having no home of her own, 
ind being only too glad to leave the family with 
vhom she had hitherto lived for the peace and 
sweetness and unspoken sympathy of Joe's mother 
ind the shelter of Joe's home. Old Tommy per- 
! ormed his daily duties with faithfulness, and added 
;o his service scraps of song and bits of consolation 
;hat the widow could well have spared ; but she 
jore with them for the sake of his really kind heart. 
50 her days went on in creeping quiet, disturbed 
>nly by a rare letter from Joe, who was not used to 
jorrespondence, and did not like it. 

" Heered from Joseph, hev ye, Mis' Gillett?" 
vas the daily question Tommy asked her ; and when 



266 HOME AGAIN. 

a long time went by between her affirmative 
answers, he shook his head sadly, and went off wail 
ing out, to the tune of " China," 

" Why dew we mo'ru deeparted f rien's ? " 

much as if he were celebrating a funeral service. 

Joseph, however, had found his element in the 
great city. The lowest clerk in the bank where 
Harry Jenks had found him a place, he devoted 
himself to his work so thoroughly and intelligently 
that he soon drew upon himself the notice of 
those above him. He unlearned che phrases of his 
country speech, and spoke like the rest of his com 
panions. He saved and spared till a city-cut suit 
of clothes replaced the Sunday garments he had 
worn at home. He looked no longer like a rustic, 
yet not the least like a fop, and he worked with a 
good will and intent purpose ; spent no money on 
amusements, but studied in his solitary evenings 
everything that could help him in his business, and 
went to bed with a sound conscience and a cold 
heart, sure narcotics for any man. 

It had been Mrs. Gillett's one hope and thought 
that Joe should come home to Thanksgiving the 
first time that festival came round after he left her. 
She had made her simple prepai-ations for the day 
early. Tommy Hymny had provided the vegeta 
bles that she had not raised herself , and brought 
her the very biggest squash for her pies that ever 
grew in Clinton. 

" Look a-here," he said, as he struggled up to the 



HOME AGAIN. 267 

back door, carrying the great straw-colored fruit in 
his arms. " Did y' ever see sech a skosh as this 
here ? I swow to man it beats time. Well, 't ain't 
none too good for Thanksgivin Day pies, an' I '11 
bet a cookey Joe never see nothin' so good down to 
York. 'T is kinder good to hev him comin' back. 

' Who shall describe the jo-oys thet rise 
Through all the courts o' paradise 
To se-e-e a prodigal re-e-turn ! ' 

Well, I don' know as I had ought to call him a 
prodigal ; he ain't one o' thet sort. I had ought to 
have broke off with line second. Deacon Hills is 
a-goin' to send over the turkey to-morrer, an' I '11 
kill them two chickens to-night for the pie, an' 
Why, Cornelye Marvin, where be ye goin' ? " 

" Up to Putney, to keep Thanksgiving with an 
old schoolmate, Uncle Tommy," answered a sweet, 
steady voice, and a pale, sad countenance smiled at 
the good old soul, whose broad face was agape with 
surprise. 

" Well, of all things ! I s'pose you thought 
two was comp'ny an' three 's a crowd. Dreadful 
thoughtful women-folks be ; but sometimes they 're 
a leetle mite too much ser. I bet Joe would n't 
ha' thought you 'd make a crowd, anyhow." 

The stage drove up just in time to spare Cornelia 
from answering, except by the vivid blush that 
made her thin cheeks glow, and with one more 
good-by to the widow, who understood her too well 
to ask her to stay', the lonely girl left her home 
before the one home-day of all our New England 



268 HOME AGAIN. 

world. But the same stage brought a brief, plau 
sible letter from Joe. He could not come back so 
soon, he said. Being the youngest clerk in the 
bank, he did not like to ask a holiday, and the 
journey would be expensive. 

The widow Gillett sold her turkey and her squash, 
and ate her meagre meal in bitterness of soul, with 
no Thanksgiving story or song in her lonely heart. 
Uncle Tommy's condolence was in vain, being of 
that pungent and counter-irritant sort common to 
his race. 

" Well, well, well ! so he ain't a-comin' ? Beats 
all. I expect you sot your heart on 't too much. 
Disapp'intment is good for pussonal piety, though. 
Some like med'cine. Mabbe you 've made a idle 
of Joseph, Mis' Gillett, an' so Providence is a-tak- 
in' ye to do for 't. 

' The dearest idle I-I hev kno-own, 
Whate'er thet i-idle be-e,' " 

he quavered, casting up his eyes to the ceiling as he 
went on ; but when the verse was over, and he 
looked round complacently for his hearer, she had 
gone, and shaking his head mournfully, he took up 
the swill pail and departed. 

Mrs. Gillett sent no word of reproach to Joe. 
She had a dim instinct that he preferred not to 
come home, and a certain healthy pride of charac 
ter forbade her to urge him to a distasteful duty 
merely for her own pleasure. She began to under 
stand from his rare letters that he was growing into 
a higher place than his mother's home or heart ; his 



HOME AGAIN. 269 

language was of another style than the rustic utter 
ance she still used, and his talk was of stocks and 
shares, of pressing business and astounding successes. 
Year after year passed by, and still he did not couie 
home to Thanksgiving, and ceased even to excuse 
himself. Now and then a handsome present came 
to his mother, heavy silk for a dress, winter furs, 
soft shawls, or warm slippers ; and while he was 
duly thanked for them, they were always packed 
away in the old camphor chest that had kept moths 
at bay all his mother's life, and neither worn nor 
looked at. 

" Why don't you wear your nice warm things, 
aunt Serena ? " asked Cornelia, during one bitter 
winter. 

"I can't, dear," said the patient voice of the 
widow. " I conceit somehow thet they would n't 
warm me none. I 'd rather set eyes on Joseph 
than hev all the furs and things under the hull 
canopy." 

Cornelia turned away to hide her overflowing 
eyes. 

But Joe, meantime, was drinking a full cup of 
success ; the ten years that had already whitened 
his mother's brown hair and changed the slight, 
sweet girl Cornelia into a grave woman with a firm, 
rounded figure, and serious, tender face, full of 
thought and feeling, had transformed Joe still more. 
He had given every power of his life to the acqui 
sition of money, and his iron will had bent circum 
stances to his favor, and grasped every occasion or 



270 HOME AGAIN. 

possibility of gain ; the fleeting fancy of his youth, 
the dark-eyed maiden who had done him homage, 
had faded from his inner as well as his outer vision. 
He laid dollar on dollar aside till some sure invest 
ment presented itself, and then, after a certain 
hoard had accumulated, began to speculate. His 
clear head and retentive memory helped him to an 
almost marvelous insight into the possibilities of 
the Stock Exchange, and his money returned to him 
again and again, doubled and redoubled, till he was 
almost a rich man ; and then, driven by that greed 
which grows more greedy with each new gain, that 
devil's hunger and thirst which warps and degrades 
the human soul like a hidden sin, he married for 
money. 

Miss Adelaide Snyder was an orphan with two 
millions in her own right, and being long past her 
girlhood, and always distrusting such friends and 
lovers as approached her, because she felt in her 
narrow soul they must be after her money and 
not her, she at last was unfortunate enough to fall 

* O 

madly in love with Mr. Gillette, the handsome 
banker, who had put another letter on to his father's 
old-fashioned name, and given its last syllable the 
heavy accent so much more "stylish" than that 
which affiliated it with " billet " and " skillet." 
Joseph Gillett had indeed developed into a much 
handsomer man than even his mother had expected ; 
good food had furnished him with abundant muscle, 
and the early and long walks taken to his business, 
in order to save car-fare, had preserved his health. 



HOME AGAIN. 271 

Dissipation had not tempted him ; he was too busy 
;o play ; and he dressed well always, being keen 
mough to perceive at once that a prosperous aspect 
aeckons and allures prosperity, to seem successful 
jeing half success with the world of men. There 
,vas no mistaking Miss Snyder's sentiments toward 
Joseph ; she was not especially shy or wanting in 
self-appreciation ; she understood and respected 
Joseph's passion for money, and lavished her smiles 
ind attentions upon him with a serene confidence 
:hat her red hair and sharp features, her lean, 
mgular figure and graceless aspect, would be un 
seen in the glitter of her diamonds and the glow 
jf her gold. 

It was a brief courtship. Joe had not been used 
to linger over any of his speculations, and he made 
no delay about this. They were to sail at once for 
Europe, and buy the trousseau in Paris, and he had 
3nly time to send his mother a paper with the short 
announcement of his marriage, and a postal card to 
tell her of his sudden departure for another land. 
He did not once think of asking her to his wed- 
ling ; it was a mere business arrangement in his 
mind, and he knew very well what scorn would 
light up Miss Snyder's prominent green eyes at 
sight of the homely, humble little woman who was 
bo be her mother-in-law. 

But the news came like a blow on Mrs. Gillett. 
Deep in her heart still burned the hope that after 
be was rich Joseph would come back and marry 
Cornelia, who had grown nearer and dearer to her 



272 HOME AGAIN. 

with each year, and the- patient woman's thoughts 
would wander from her monotonous knitting, and 
weave for themselves tender motherly dreams of a 
house full of clinging children, a chair by her son's 
fireside, an old age of honor and loving tendance, 
and a renewal of her own motherhood in Joseph's 
and Cornelia's offspring. 

Now this was over. She felt with almost the 
certainty of knowledge that her son's wife would be 
no comfort to her, perhaps even ashamed of her. 
She understood with a sharp emotion of regret 
why she had not been asked to Joseph's marriage ; 
but the regret was more for her boy than herself. 
And a sharper pang yet was added when she per 
ceived that Cornelia paled and grew silent for many 
a long week. 

Tommy Hymny alone received the news in an 
appropriate spirit. 

" You don't say our Joseph 's reely married. Hal- 
lylooyer ! hallylooyer ! hallylooyer ! Amen. Well, 
well ! a York gal too. Rich as mud, I s'pose, an' 
pootier 'n a pictur. Sech is life, Mis' Gillett. 
Some folks hez the pertaters an' some the parin's ; 
tis his'n to get the old 'riginal roots, b'iled an' 
skinned an' buttered, an' I 've got the skins. But 
land ! I sorter like skins ; they 're hullsome. So 
Joe 's married : 

' Blest be-e the tie-ie that binds.' 

That 's so. Well, I 'd sort o' con sated that Cor- 
nelye an' him would hitch hosses for the traviled 



HOME AGAIN. 273 

road o' this world, but 't wa'n't so to be. Man 
proposes an' the Lord disposes, they say. PYaps 
he did n't propose, though, thet is, to Cornelye. 
Anyway, I expect he 's got a good un ; " and 
Tommy struck up, to the solemn rhythm of "Old 
Hundred," 

" ' may this pair increasin' find 

Substan-shill playsures of the mind ; 
Happee too-gether may they be, 
An' both united ' 

Darn it ! I 've forgot the rest. I don't put into 
't reel often. This town 's consider'ble like hea 
ven : the' ain't much marryin' an' givin' in mar 
riage here." 

And having thus cackled his congratulations, 
Tommy walked off to the barn. 

Another cloud seemed now to have settled on 
the Gillett house ; both Cornelia and aunt Serena 
went about softly, as did Agag of old, feeling that 
the bitterness of life was upon them afresh. The 
two women grew pitifully tender of each other, and 
perhaps their daily work and duties were all that 
saved them from that settled melancholy which 
sometimes unfits the strongest mind for its earthly 
existence. 

Meanwhile Joseph was enjoying himself, in a 
certain fashion, abroad. If he soon found out 
that his wife was jealous, selfish, and exacting, he 
set that down to the loss account of his bargain 
against the two millions solid gain ; and if some- 
times there arose beside the gaunt and unlovely 



274 HOME AGAIN. 

figure of this bride in priceless costumes and jew 
els the delicate outlines of a girl with dark melan 
choly eyes full of love and sorrow, in a calico gown 
and white apron, the sigh he involuntarily uttered 
was followed by a little expletive of scorn, due en 
tirely to the aforesaid calico and cambric, for his 
heart was yet hardened. Some new and successful 
speculations in foreign stocks kept him busy, and 
Mrs. Gillette amused herself with operas and balls. 
She too had found out that Joseph was by no means 
the lover or the husband she had expected, but she 
was woman of the world enough to accept the situ 
ation and make the best of it. 

So ten years more rolled by. One puny baby had 
been born of this heartless union, and died after an 
hour of fluttering life. In all this time Joe had seen 
his mother but twice : once when he brought home 
the baby body to lay it beside his father in the old 
churchyard ; and his heart seemed open again to 
ward his mother and his home ; he sat by her once 
more in the time-worn but unchanged kitchen, and 
saw how years and longing had turned her hair to 
bands of snow, and lined her face with the fine 
script of grief in a thousand delicate etchings. He 
was welcomed by Tommy Hynmy, decrepit, but 
unfaltering in his quaver : 

" Deary me ! so this is Joe ! Mister Gillett, I 
expect. How you hev growed ! And fetched your 
babe hum to the cemet'ry for to rest beside your 
folks. Well, well ! it beats all ! I 've felt for ye, 
Joseph. I hev, quite a little. Providence hain't 



HOME AGAIN. 275 

gifted me with no children, nor no wife, for the 
matter o' that ; but I Ve bore up under 't ; less 
hev, less lose, ye know ; and I ain't never one to 
say, Why do ye so ? to Providence ; I 've kinder 
squirmed along, as you may say, and hed my own 
troubles, but ye know, 

' Not f ro-om the du-u-ust affli-hic-tions rise, 
Nor trou-u-ubles co-o-ome by chance.' 

Goes real good to * St. Martin's,' that does seems 
to kinder sob. Well, well ; good-by to ye, Joseph ; 
be good, an' you '11 be happy ; mabbe not jest here, 
but there 's t' other world, ye know." 

This was just what the rich banker did not know 
practically, but he went back to his splendid home 
and his pining, disappointed wife, with Tommy's 
odd phrases ringing in his ears, soon, however, to 
be forgotten in the renewed rush for the wealth 
that was no longer a blessing to him, but only the 
minister of a mad and degrading greed for more 
gold. Yet neither his mother nor his mother's God 
had forgotten this prodigal, who so filled himself 
with husks. Near the end of this last ten years a 
man whom he had trusted with the blindest confi 
dence failed, as men will fail, to deserve that 
trust; embezzlement, flight, panic, falling houses, 
all dragged down by this false dependence on an 
other, one here and another there, like the outlying 
compartments of a card palace, going down with 
shame and despair. 

It is an old story, ever new, but sad as it is old ; 
the millionaire of to-day may be the beggar of to- 



276 HOME AGAIN. 

morrow, and his trust in uncertain riches once gone, 
what is left to him ? 

" Crumble it and what comes next ? 
Is it God ? " 

And there were added to this loss others, contin 
gent on it, that left Joseph Gillett a solitary man. 
The shock of ruin killed his wife as surely as any 
death-dealing bullet ; and not her only, for with her 
passing soul went out another, the yet untried spirit 
of a new-born child, long desired, eagerly looked 
for, as the heir and increaser of this money that had 
proved but fairy gold. To say that the ruined 
banker mourned his wife would be a mere polite 
ness, but he did bitterly grieve for the child he had 
so earnestly wished might give a new hope and rea 
son to his own existence ; and when he found him 
self almost penniless, after he had laid mother and 
child to rest in the gorgeous suburban grave-yard, 
where long since he had erected the most exquisite 
monument of its vast collection, he remembered, 
like the echo of a past life, Tommy Hymny's quaint 
phrase, " There 's t' other world, ye know." 

He had lingered behind the funeral train, send 
ing his carriage back empty, and seated himself on 
a little hillock to watch the filling of the grave that 
held the two tenants, when the odd words came 
back to him. The low sun struck across the shorn 
and verdant grass at his feet, the sad, sweet odors 
of late autumn filled the soft air, and above the 
suggestive chamber in that emerald turf rose, on a 
high and simple pedestal, the shape of a colossal 



HOME AGAIN. 277 

foman, holding in her dropped hand a slight cross 
hat lay against her side, and with the other point- 
ng upward, while her face, radiant with trust and 
xpectance, yet calm with sure and certain hope, 
aoked away from and over all the graves beneath 
ier to the far eastern hills, as if she hailed beyond 
hem the advent morning, and returned in her eyes 
he light of his coming who is the Resurrection and 
he Life. That exalted look of serene rapture fell 
ike a spell on the arid and rocky heart of Joseph 
jillett; his losses and sorrows vanished for the 
loment ; that other world drew near and enveloped 
dm in its glory ; his flesh and spirit quailed be- 
ore the suggestion of that glad aspect ; some old 
morels heard in his childhood rose up to his confu- 
ion : " Who shall abide the day of his coining ? 
^.nd who shall stand when He appeareth ? " and 
efore their awful utterance his soul shrank and 
dwindled as in the very presence of a neglected 
nd forgotten Master asking for the talents in- 
rusted to his unfaithful servant. It was almost 
s if the grave gave up its dead, this arising of 
he blinded and besotted soul at the word of the 
jord ; but it was a true resurrection, for after a 
ong hour of deep and torturing conflict within 
dmself, he rose up, leaving his dead behind him, 
nth the old repentant sentence on his lips, though 
i an never heard it spoken, "Father, I have sinned 
gainst Heaven and in thy sight, and am no more 
worthy to be called thy son." 
And it happened to him, as before, that his Fa- 



278 HOME AGAIN. 

ther saw him a great way off, and had compassion 
on him. 

No temptation offered him to return to his busi 
ness career had after this any tempting in it. To 
the last dollar his money went to pay all that he 
owed, and was barely sufficient to set him free ; 
but his creditors were merciful, and accepted what 
they could get graciously, knowing very well that 
this, the chief sufferer, was not the chief sinner, 
who had at the first alarm put wide seas between 
him and the danger of losing the proceeds of his 
treason. 

It was hardly a grief to the widow Gillett to 
hear of Joseph's losses ; her maternal instinct long 
ago had convinced her that he was not happy with 
his wife, and she knew that his money had built up 
a wall of separation between her boy and herself. 
There was almost a smile on her sweet old face as 
she told Tommy, when he came tottering into the 
house with a basket of apples, the story of failure 
and poverty that had befallen Joseph. 

" Good Jericho ! you don't say it ? Why, I 
thought he was rollin' in gold, Mis' Gillett. Well, 
well ! 't is the root of all evil, sartin, leastways 
the love on 't is. I have sorter noticed, though, that 
folks don't seem to think so. Ain't it onsartiu 
stuff? 

' Riches take 'era -wings a-and fly ; 
Time sha-all soon this airth remove.' 

That 's so, and mabbe 't is for the best ; most 
things is. I have n't never hed no trouble with 



HOME AGAIN. 279 

ioney, an' I 'm a'most through, without it, praise 
e to thanks ! 'T is kinder perilous stuff, now 
in'tit? 

' What sinners valoo, I resign.' 

ot to say Joseph 's one o' the sinners ; but mabbe 
e '11 come into the kingdom now, seein' he 's 
;ripped an' wownded like the prodigy. 

' Hearken, ye lively, and attend, ye vain ones ; 
Pause in your mirth, adversity consider ; 
Learn from a friend's pen, sentimental, painful, 
Death-bed reflections.' " 

'he quaint old hymn, delivered in Tommy's most 
racked and wandering quaver, sinking into a minor 
rowl at the end, was almost too much for the wid- 
w ? s gravity; she turned suddenly into the door, 
ad Tommy mumbled as he went, " 'T ain't quite 
ly death-bed, nuther ; but hymns an' psalms don't 
t as close as a new boot allers ; there hez to be a 
largin." 

This year there would indeed be a Thanksgiving 
t the Gillett farm, for Joseph had resolved to 
3me home and live with his mother. In his pros- 
erity he had given her the farm for her own, and 
dded to the deed twenty thousand dollars, which 
as far more than she needed in her simple life, so 
lat now it had accumulated considerably, and she 
ad enough to keep her boy, as she still called him, 
i comfort. 

This time Cornelia did not run away ; she thought 
f herself as an old woman, now that twenty long 
ears stood between her and the girl of eighteen 



280 HOME AGAIN. 

who had believed Joe Gillett loved her as she loved 
him ; and her color did not fade or her heart falter 
as she held out her hand to welcome her old friend, 
as soon as his mother's silent, tearful greeting was 
over. 

Joseph could not believe his eyes. He was gray, 
haggard, bent, showing to the full his forty-five 
years ; but not a line of silver streaked Cornelia's 
abundant dark hair, her eyes were sweet and serene, 
her broad forehead calm and noble, a steady rose 
of health glowed on her cheek, and the firm full 
lips were crimson as the rose's bud. She had been 
a lovely girl ; she was now a superb and serious 
woman, one of those who give an inexpressible 
sense of comfort and cheer wherever they are met, 
and can make even a poor and dreary house into a 
real home by their presence. For a long and 
weary time Joe Gillett had not tasted peaceful hap 
piness. Now as he sat by the crackling fire, with 
his mother beside him and Cornelia at the table 
sewing, just across the hearth, he seemed to him 
self to have been a mad fool for the last twenty 
years ; he could not even smile without a half sigh 
when old Tommy stumbled into the kitchen after 
tea, to welcome him home. 

" Well, well, well ! here ye be, Joseph ! jest as 
large as life, an' twice as nateral. I 'm 'mazin' 
tickled to see ye. I guess I be. 

' When I sot out for glory 
I lef the world behind.' 

That 's so. Now, Mis' Gillett, you '11 hev seel? 



HOME AGAIN. 281 

another Thanksgivin' Day, won't ye ? Vittles of 
the best, pies an' things of the reel old-fashioned 
stripe, Joseph. I see 'em last night a-settin' on 
the butt'ry shelf in rows, an' that there turkey o' 
Deacon Hills's raisin' is jest as fat an' white as a 
chestnut worm ; an' I picked the crambries myself 
down in th' old tamarack swamp ; that 's the carnal 
an' airthly part on 't ; the speritooal 's better ; here 
ye be agin, th' only son, an' she a widder. 

' Hallylooyer ! 't is done ! 

I believe in the Son, 

An' to glory we will go, will go, will go, 
An' to glory we will go.' 

Yes, marcy 's better 'n sacrifice an' burnt-offerin's. 
Yer boy 's got to the old pecooliar place where he 
was fetched up, an' you 've ben an' killed the fatted 
calf, thet is to say, the turkey, ye know ; same 
sperit, an' you 've got your reward, yes, inarm. 

' The men of grace hev found 
Glo-ree begun below, 
Celestyill fruit on airthly ground.' 

"Well, I must be a-goin'." 

Cornelia had vanished too, tears and laughter 
together had been too much for her ; and long into 
the night Joe and his mother sat by the fire, saying 
little, but full of thought. 

It was a long time before Joseph Gillett dared to 
ask Cornelia for the heart he had once thrown away, 
and longer still before she gave it openly into his 
keeping. He never fully knew how faithful it 
had been to him in absence and neglect. 



282 HOME AGAIN. 

The next year's Thanksgiving Day had a double 
celebration. Early in the morning the old minister 
drove over to the Gillett farm, and, before -no wit 
ness but his mother, Joseph and Cornelia were 
married, and even that mother felt no pang of 
jealous affection when Joseph turned to his wife 
and said, with trembling lips, 

" Now I am at home again, Nely, and ready to 
give thanks." 

There was but one thing to regret, and that was 
Tommy Hymny's absence ; but old age had weak 
ened him at last, and a severe fall had broken his 
hip ; he was fast sinking into the grave. After din 
ner Cornelia and Joe went over to the tiny house 
he lived in, to carry him some of the feast and cheer 
his loneliness. 

" Here you be," said the weak, cheerful voice, 
and the still keen old eyes sparkled with welcome. 
" I 've lived to see this day fin'ly, an' I did n't 
skerce expect to. I 'm as pleased as pie, Joseph. 
I tell ye she 's a dreadful good woman, Cornelye is; 
one of the fust best. I 'd kinder like to see ye 
livin' together in peace an' so on, but I 'm goin' 
hum, an' that 's better. 

' I 'm goiu' hum, I 'm goin' hum, 
I 'm goin' hum, to die no more.' " 

The feeble quaver and the smiling eye were in 
expressibly touching. Quick tears filled the bride's 
eyes. 

" Why, don't ye, now! don't ye ! " said Tommy 
earnestly. " I 'm awful glad. I hain't never be- 



HOME AGAIN. 283 

longed to nobody in p'ticular here below, an' I do 
'lot on seein' our folks in t' other world. There 's 
mother: I set by mother a sight when I was a 
leetle shaver ; seemed as though I could n't noways 
hev her go. Pa 'd died afore I was born, ye see, 
fell off'n a barn ; but I hed to live ; kinder squirmed 
up, as ye may say ; but I 've dreamed about mother 
more times ! There 's aunt Pamelye Ann, too, she 
that learned me sech a sight o' hymns. I expect 
she 's ben a-harpin' an' a-singin' ever sence she got 
there. I 'd like to jine in along of her once more. 
S'pose pa will be pleased to see me too. Dear me ! 
it 's revivin' to think of. 

' On Jordan's stormy banks I stan', 

An' cast a wishful eye 
Towardst Canaan's fair an' happy land, 
Where my ' 

Oh dear ! I can't sing no more. I do reely b'lieve 
I 'in a-goin'. I'm so thankful " 

A smile ran across the withered old face like a 
gleam of sudden light, a flickering shadow followed. 
Tommy raised himself on one arm. 

" Don't think I forget the Lord. He 's the hull 
on 't. I 'in a-goin' to keep Thanksgivin' 'long o' 
Him. 

'Glory be to'" 

And with this last hymn lingering on his pallid 
lips, he laid his head back on the pillow, smiled, and 
died. 



HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 

" IF there 's anything on the face of the earth I 
do hate, it 's an old maid ! " 

Mrs. Stearns looked up from her sewing in as 
tonishment. 

"Why, Miss Celia!" 

" Oh, yes ! I know it. I 'm one myself, but all 
the same, I hate 'ern worse than p'ison. They ain't 
nothing nor nobody ; they 're cumberers of the 
ground." And Celia Barnes laid down her scis 
sors with a bang, as if she might be Atropos herself, 
ready to cut the thread of life for all the despised 
class of which she was a notable member. 

The minister's wife was genuinely surprised at 
this outburst ; she herself had been well along in 
life before she married, and though she had been 
fairly happy in the uncertain relationship to which 
she had attained, she was, on the whole, inclined to 
agree with St. Paul, that the woman who did not 
marry " doeth better." " I don't agree with you, 
Miss Celia," she said gently. "Many, indeed, 
most of my best friends are maiden ladies, and 
I respect and love them just as much as if they 
were married women." 

" Well, I don't. A woman that 's married is 
somebody ; she 's got a place in the world ; she ain't 



HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 285 

everybody's tag ; folks don't say, ' Oh, it 's nobody 
but that old maid Celye Barnes ; ' it 's ' Mis' Price," 
and ' Mis' Sirnms,' or ' Thomas Smith's wife,' as 
though you was somebody. I don't know how 't is 
elsewheres, but here in Bassett you might as well be 
a dog as an old maid. I allow it might be better 
if they all had means or eddication : money 's ' a 
dreadful good thing to have in the house,' as I see 
in a book once, and learning is sort of comp'ny to 
you if you 're lonesome ; but then lonesome you be, 
and you 've got to be, if you 're an old maid, and it 
can't be helped noway." 

Mrs. Stearns smiled a little sadly, thinking that 
even married life had its own loneliness when your 
husband was shut up in his study, or gone off on a 
long drive to see some sick parishioner or conduct 
a neighborhood prayer-meeting, or even when he 
was the other side of the fireplace absorbed in a 
religious paper or a New York daily, or meditating 
on his next sermon, while the silent wife sat un 
noticed at her mending or knitting. " But mar 
ried women have more troubles and responsibili 
ties than the unmarried, Miss Celia," she said. 
" You have no children to bring up and be anxious 
about, no daily dread of not doing your duty by 
the family whom you preside over, and no fear of 
the supplies giving out that are really needed. No 
body but your own self to look out for." 

" That 's jest it," snapped Celia, laying down the 
boy's coat she was sewing with a vicious jerk of her 
thread. " There 't is ! Nobody to home to care if 



286 HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 

you live or die ; nobody to peek out of the winder 
to see if you 're comin', or to make a mess of gruel 
or a cup of tea for you, or to throw ye a feelin' 
word if you 're sick nigh unto death. And old 
maids is just as li'ble to up and die as them that 's 
married. And as to responsibility, I ain't afraid to 
tackle that. Never! I don't hold with them that 
cringe and crawl and are skeert at a shadder, and 
won't do a living thing that they had ought to do 
because they 're ' afraid to take the responsibility.' 
Why, there 's Mrs. Deacon Trimble, she durst n't so 
much as set up a prayer-meetin' for missions or the 
temp'rance cause, because 't was ' sech a reespon- 
sibility to take the lead in them matters.' I sup 
pose it 's somethin' of a responsible chore to preach 
the gospel to the heathen, or grab a drinkin' fel 
ler by the scruff of his neck and haul him out of 
the horrible pit anyway, but if it 's dooty it 's got 
to be done, whether or no ; and I ain't afraid of 
pitchin' into anything the Lord sets me to do ! " 

" Except being an old maid," said Mrs. Stearns. 

Celia darted a sharp glance at her over her sil 
ver-rimmed spectacles, and pulled her needle 
through and through the seams of Willy's jacket 
with fresh vigor, while a thoughtful shadow came 
across her fine old face. Celia was a candid woman, 
for all her prejudices, a combination peculiarly char 
acteristic of New England, for she was a typical 
Yankee. Presently she said abruptly, " I had n't 
thought on 't in that light." But then the minis- 
ter opened the door, and the conversation stopped. 



HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 287 

Parson Stearns was tired and hungry and cross, 
and his wife knew all that as soon as she saw his 
face. She had learned long ago that ministers, 
however good they may be, are still men ; so to-day 
she had kept her husband's dinner warm in the 
tinder-oven, and had the kettle boiling to make him 
a cup of tea on the spot to assuage his irritation in 
the shortest and surest way ; but though the odor of 
a savory stew and the cheerful warmth of the cook 
ing-stove greeted him as he preceded her through 
the door into the kitchen, he snapped out, sharply 
enough for Celia to hear him through the half-closed 
door, " What do you have that old maid here for 
so often ? " 

" There ! " said Celia to herself, " there 't is ! 
He don't look upon 't as a dispensation, if she 
doos. Men -folks run the world, and they know 
it. There ain't one of the hull caboodle but what 
despises an onmarried woman ! Well, 't ain't alto 
gether my fault. I would n't marry them that I 
could ; I could n't not and be honest ; and them 
that I would hev had did n't ask me. I don't 
know as I 'm to blame, after all, when you look 
into 't." 

And she went on sewing Willy's jacket, con 
trived with pains and skill out of an old coat of 
his father's, while Mrs. Stearns poured out her hus 
band's tea in the kitchen, replenished his plate with 
stew, and cut for him more than one segment of 
the crisp, fresh apple-pie, and urged upon him the 
squares of new cheese that legitimately accompany 



288 HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 

this deleterious viand of the race and country, the 
sempiternal, insistent, flagrant, and alas ! also fra 
grant pie. 

Celia Barnes was the tailoress of the little scat 
tered country town of Bassett. Early left an orphan, 
without near relatives or money, she had received 
the scantiest measure of education that our town 
authorities deal to the pauper children of such 
organizations. She was ten years old when her 
mother, a widow for almost all those ten years, left 
her to the tender mercies of the selectmen of Bas 
sett. The selectmen of our country towns are al 
most irresponsible governors of their petty spheres, 
and gratify the instinct of oligarchy peculiar to, and 
conservative of, the human race. Men must be 
governed and tyrannized over, it is an inborn 
necessity of their nature ; and while a republic is 
a beautiful theory, eminently fitted for a race who 
are " non Angli, sed Angeli," it has in practice the 
effect of producing more than Russian tyranny, 
but on smaller scales and in far and scattered lo 
calities. Nowhere are there more despots than 
among village selectmen in New England. Those 
who have wrestled with their absolute monarchism 
in behalf of some charity that might abstract a few 
of the almighty dollars made out of poverty and 
disti'ess from their official pockets know how pos 
itive and dogmatic is their use of power experto 
crede. The Bassett " first selectman " promptly 
bound out little Celia Barnes to a hard, imperi 
ous woman, who made a white slave of the child, 



HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 289 

and only dealt out to her the smallest measure of 
schooling demanded by law, because the good old 
minister, Father Perkins, interfered in the child's 
behalf. 

As she was strong and hardy and resolute, Celia 
lived through her bondage, and at the " free " age 
of eighteen apprenticed herself to old Miss Polly 
Mariner, the Bassett tailoress, and being deft with 
her fingers and quick of brain, soon outran her 
teacher, and when Polly died, succeeded to her 
business. 

She was a bright girl, not particularly noticeable 
among others, for she had none of that delicate 
flower-like New England beauty which is so pe 
culiar, so charming, and so evanescent ; her features 
were tolerably regular, her forehead broad and 
calm, her gray eyes keen and perceptive, and she 
had abundant hair of an uncertain brown ; but forty 
other girls in Bassett might have been described in 
the same way ; Celia's face was one to improve 
with age ; its strong sense, capacity for humor, fine 
outlines of a rugged sort, were always more the style 
of fifty than fifteen, and what she said of herself 
was true. 

She had been asked to marry an old farmer with 
five uproarious boys, a man notorious in East Bas 
sett for his stinginess and bad temper, and she had 
promptly declined the offer. Once more fate had 
given her a chance. A young fellow of no character, 
poor, " shiftless," and given to cider as a beverage, 
had considered it a good idea to marry some one 



290 HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 

who would make a home for him and earn his liv 
ing. Looking about him for a proper person to 
fill this pleasant situation, he pounced on Celia 
and she returned the attention ! 

" Marry you ? I wonder you 've got the sass to ask 
any decent girl to marry ye, Alfred Hatch ! What 
be you good for, anyway ? I don't know what under 
the canopy the Lord spares you for, only He 
doos let the tares grow amongst the wheat, Scripter 
says, and I 'm free to suppose He knows why, but 
I don't. No, sir ! Ef you was the last man in the 
livin' universe I would n't tech ye with the tongs. 
If you : d got a speck of grit into you, you 'd be 
ashamed to ask a woman to take ye in and support 
ye, for that 's what it comes to. You go 'long ! I 
can make my hands save my head so long as I hev 
the use of 'em, and I have n't no call to set up a 
private poor-house ! " 

So Alfred Hatch sneaked off, much like a cur 
that has sought to share the kennel of a mastiff, 
and been shortly and sharply convinced of his pre 
sumption. 

Here ended Celia's " chances," as she phrased 
it. Young men were few in Bassett ; the West had 
drawn them away with its subtle attraction of un 
known possibilities, just as it does to-day, and Celia 
grew old in the service of those established matrons 
who always want clothes cut over for their children, 
carpet rags sewed, quilts quilted, and comfortables 
tacked. She was industrious and frugal, and in 
time laid up some money in the Dartford Savings' 



HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 291 

Bank ; but she did not, like many spinsters, invest 
her hard-earned dollars in a small house. Often 
she was urged to do so, but her reasons were good 
for refusing. 

" I should be so independent ? Well, I 'm as 
independent now as the law allows. I Ve got two 
good rooms to myself, south winders, stairs of my 
own and outside door, and some privileges. If I 
had a house there 'd be taxes, and insurance, and 
eleanin' off snow come winter-time, and hoein' 
paths ; and likely enough I should be so fur left 
to myself that I should set up a garden, and make 
my succotash cost a dollar a pint a-hirin' of a man 
to dig it up and hoe it down. Like enough, too, 
I should be gettin' flower seeds and things ; I'm 
kinder fond of blows in the time of 'em. My old 
fish-geran'um is a sight of comfort to me as 't is, 
and there would be a bill of expense again. Then 
you can't noway build a house with only two rooms 
in 't, it would be all outside ; and you might as 
well try to heat the universe with a cookin'-stove 
as such a house. Besides, how lonesome I should 
be ! It 's forlorn enough to be an old maid anyway, 
but to have it sort of ground into you, as you may 
say, by livin' all alone in a hull house, that ain't 
necessary nor agreeable. Now, if I 'm sick or sorry, 
I can just step downstairs and have aunt Nabby 
to help or hearten me. Deacon Everts he did set 
to work one time to persuade me to buy a house ; 
he said 't was a good thing to be able to give some 
body shelter 't was poorer 'n I was. Says I, ' Deacon, 



292 HOW CELT A CHANGED HER MIND. 

I 've worked for my livin' evar sence I remember, 
and I know there 's no use in anybody bein' poorer 
than I be. I have n't no call to take any sech in 
and do for 'em. I give what I can to missions, 
home ones, and I 'in willin', cheerfully willin', to 
do a day's work now and again for somebody that 
is strivin' with too heavy burdens ; but as for keep- 
in' free lodgin' and board, I sha'n't do it.' ' Well, 
well, well,' says he, kinder as if I was a fractious 
young one, and a-sawin' his fat hand up and down 
in the air till I wanted to slap him, 'just as you 'd 
ruther, Celye, just as you 'd ruther. I don't 
mean to drive ye a mite, only, as Scripter says, 
" Provoke one another to love and good works." ' 

" That did rile me ! Says I : ' Well, you 've 
provoked me full enough, though I don't know as 
you 've done it in the Scripter sense ; and mabbe I 
should n't have got so fur provoked if I had n't have 
known that little red house your grand sir' lived and 
died in was throwed back on your hands just now, 
and advertised for sellin'. I see the " Mounting 
County Herald," Deacon Everts.' He shut up, I 
tell ye. But I sha'n't never buy no house so long 
as aunt Nabby lets me have her two south cham 
bers, and use the back stairway and the north door 
continual." 

So Miss Celia had kept on in her way till now 
she was fifty, and to-day making over old clothes 
at the minister's. The minister's wife had, as we 
have seen, little romance or wild happiness in her 
life ; it is not often the portion of country ministers' 



HOW CELT A CHANGED HER MIND. 293 

wives ; and, moreover, she had two step-daughters 
who were girls of sixteen and twelve when she 
married their father. Katy was married herself 
now, this ten years, and doing her hard duty by an 
annual baby and a struggling parish in Dakota ; 
but Rosabel, whose fine name had been the only 
legacy her dying mother left the day-old child she 
had scarce had time to kiss and christen before 
she went to take her own " new name " above, was 
now a girl of twenty-two, pretty, headstrong, and 
rebellious. Nature had endowed her with keen 
dark eyes, crisp dark curls, a long chin, and a very 
obstinate mouth, which only her red lips and white 
even teeth redeemed from ugliness ; her bright 
color and her sense of fun made her attractive to 
young men wherever she encountered one of that 
rare species. Just now she was engaged in a 
serious flirtation with the station-master at Bassett 
Centre, an impecunious youth of no special inter 
est to other people and quite unable to maintain a 
wife. But out of the " strong necessity of loving," 
as it is called, and the want of young society or 
settled occupation, Rosa Stearns chose to fall in 
love with Amos Barker, and her father considered 
it a " fall " indeed. So, with the natural clumsi 
ness of a man and a father, Parson Stearns set him 
self to prevent the matter, and began by forbidding 
Rosabel to see or speak or write to the youth in 
question, and thereby inspired in her mind a burn 
ing desire to do all three. Up to this time she had 
rather languidly amused herself by mild and gentle 



294 HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 

flirtations with him, such as looking at him side- 
wise in church 011 Sunday, meeting him acciden 
tally on his way to and from the station, for she 
spent at least half her time at her aunt's in Bassett 
Centre, and had even taught the small school there 
during the last six months. She had also sent him 
her tintype, and his own was secreted in her bureau 
drawer. He had invited her to go with him to 
two sleigh-rides and one sugaring-off, and always 
came home with her from prayer-meeting and sing 
ing-school ; but like a wise youth he had never yet 
proposed to marry her in due form, not so much 
because he was wise as because he was thoughtless 
and lazy ; and while he enjoyed the society of a 
bright girl, and liked to dangle after the prettiest 
one in Bassett, and the minister's daughter too, he 
did not love work well enough to shoulder the re 
sponsibility of providing for another those material 
but necessary supplies that imply labor of an in 
cessant sort. 

Rosabel, in her first inconsiderate anger at her 
father's command, sat down and wrote a note to 
Amos, eminently calculated to call out his sympathy 
with her own wrath, and promptly mailed it as soon 
as it was written. It ran as follows : 

DEAR FRIEND, Pa has forbidden me to speak 
to you any more, or to correspond with you. I 
suppose I must submit so far ; but he did not say I 
must return your picture [the parson had not an 
idea that she possessed that precious thing], so I 



HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 295 

shall keep it to remind me of the pleasant hours 
we have passed tog-ether. 

" Fare thee well, and if forever, 
Still forever fare thee well ! " 

Your true friend, ROSABEL STEARNS. 
P. S. I think pa is horrid I 

So did Amos as he read this heart-rending mis 
sive, in which the postscript, according to the estab 
lished sneer at woman's postscripts, carried the 
whole force of the epistle. 

Now Amos had made a friend of Miss Celia by 
once telegraphing for her trunk, which she had 
lost on her way home from the only journey of her 
life, a trip to Boston, whither she had gone, on the 
strength of the one share of B. & A. R. R. stock 
she held, to spend the allotted three days granted 
to stockholders on their annual excursions, presum 
ably to attend the annual meeting. Amos had put 
himself to the immense trouble of sending two mes 
sages for Miss Celia, and asked her nothing for the 
civility, so that ever after, in the fashion of solitary 
women, she held herself deeply in his debt. He 
knew that she was at work for Mrs. Stearns when 
he received Rosa's epistle, for he had just been 
over to Bassett on the train there was but a mile 
to traverse to get her to repair his Sunday coat, 
and not found her at home, but had no time to 
look her up at the parson's, as he must walk back 
to his station. Now he resolved to take his answer 
to Rosa to Miss Celia in the evening, and so be 



296 HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 

sure that his abused sweetheart received it, for he 
had read too many dime novels to doubt that her 
tyrannic father would intercept their letters, and 
drive them both to madness and despair. That 
well-meaning but rather dull divine never would 
have thought of such a thing ; he was a puffy, ab 
sent-minded, fat little man, with a weak, squeaky 
voice, and a sudden temper that blazed up like a 
bunch of dry weeds at a passing spark, and went 
out at once in flattest ashes. It had been Mrs. 
Stearns's step-motherly interference that drove him 
into his harshness to Rosa. She meant well and 
he meant well, but we all know what good inten 
tions with no further sequel of act are good for, 
and nobody did more of that " paving " than these 
two excellent but futile people. 

Miss Celia was ready to do anything for Amos 
Barker, and she considered it little less than a 
mortal sin to stand in the way of any marriage that 
was really desired by two parties. That Amos was 
poor did not daunt her at all ; she had the curious 
faith that possesses some women, that any man can 
be prosperous if he has the will so to be ; and she 
had a high opinion of this youth, based on his civil 
ity to her. It may be said of men, as of ele 
phants, that it is lucky they do not know their own 
power ; for how many more women would become 
their worshipers and slaves than are so to-day if 
they knew the abject gratitude the average woman 
feels for the least attention, the smallest kindness, 
the faintest expression of affection or good will 



HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 297 

We are all, like the Syrophenician woman, glad 
and ready to eat of the crumbs which fall from the 
children's table, so great is our faith in men. 

Miss Celia took the note in her big basket over 
to the minister's the very next day after that on 
which we introduced her to our readers. She was 
perhaps more rejoiced to contravene that reverend 
gentleman's orders than if she had not heard his 
querulous and contemptuous remark about her 
through the crack of the door on the previous after 
noon ; and it was with a sense of joy that, after all, 
an old maid could do something, that she slipped 
the envelope into Rosa's hands, and told her to put 
it quickly into her pocket, the very .first moment 
she found herself alone with that young woman. 

Many a hasty word had Parson Stearns spoken 
in the suddenness of his petulant temper, but never 
one that bore direr fruit than that when he called 
Celia Barnes " that old maid." 

For of course Amos and Rosabel found in her an 
ardent friend. They had the instinct of distressed 
lovers to cajole her with all their confidences, ca 
resses, and eager gratitude, and for once she felt her 
self dear and of importance. Amos consulted her 
on his plans for the future, which of course pointed 
westward, where he had a brother editing and own 
ing a newspaper. This brother had before offered 
him a place in his office, but Amos had liked bet 
ter the easy work of a station-master in a tiny vil 
lage. Now his ambition was aroused, for the time 
at least. He wanted to make a home for Rosabel, 



298 HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 

but, alack ! he had not one cent to pay their united 
expenses to Peoria, and a lion stood in the way. 
Here again Celia stepped in : she had some money 
laid up ; she would lend it to them. 

I do not say that at this stage she had no misgiv 
ings, but even these were set at rest by a conversation 
she had with Mrs. Stearns some six weeks after 
the day on which Celia had so fully expressed her 
scorn of spinsters. She was there again to tack a 
comfortable for Rosabel's bed, and bethought her 
self that it was a good time to feel her way a little 
concerning Mrs. Stearns's opinion of things. 

" They do say," she remarked, stopping to snip 
off her thread and twist the end of it through her 
needle's eye, " that your Rosy don't go with Amos 
Barker no more. Is that so ? " 

" Yes," said Mrs. Stearns, with a half sigh. 
" Husband was rather prompt about it ; he don't 
think Amos Barker ever '11 amount to much, and 
he thinks his people are not just what they should 
be. You know his father never was very much of 
a man, and his grandfather is a real old reprobate. 
Husband says he never knew anything but crows 
come out of a crow's nest, and so he told Rosa to 
break acquaintance with him." 

" Who does he like to hev come to see her ? " 
asked Celia, with a grim set of her lips, stabbing 
her needle fiercely through the unoffending calico. 

Mrs. Stearns laughed rather feebly. " I don't 
think he has anybody on his mind, Miss Celia. I 
don't think there are any young men in Bassett. 



HOW CELIA CHANGED HEE MIND. 299 

I dare say Rosa will never marry. I wish she 
would, for she is n't happy here, and I can't do 
much to help it, with all my cares." 

" And you can't feel for her as though she was 
your own, if you try ever so," confidently asserted 
Celia. 

" No, I suppose not. I try to do my duty by her, 
and I am sorry for her ; but I know all the time 
an own mother would understand her better and 
make it easier for her. Mr. Stearns is peculiar, 
and men don't know just how to manage girls." 

It was a cautious admission, but Miss Celia had 
sharp eyes, and knew very well that Rosabel neither 
loved nor respected her father, and that they were 
now on terms of real if unavowed hostility. 

" Well," said she, " I don' know but you will 
have to have one of them onpleasant creturs, an old 
maid, in your fam'ly. I declare for 't, I 'd hold a 
Thanksgiving Day all to myself ef I 'd escaped that 
marcy." 

" You may not always think so, Celia." 

" I don't know what '11 change me. 'T will be 
something I don't look forrard to now," answered 
Celia obstinately. 

Mrs. Stearns sighed. " I hope Rosa will do no 
thing worse than to live unmarried," she said ; but 
she could not help wishing silently that some wor 
thy man would carry the perverse and annoying 
girl out of the parsonage for good. 

After this Celia felt a certain freedom to help 
Rosabel ; she encouraged the lovers to meet at her 



300 HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 

house, helped plan their elopement, sewed for the 
girl, and at last went with them as far as Brimfield 
when they stole away one evening, saw them safely 
married at the Methodist parsonage there, and bid 
ding them good-speed, returned to Bassett Centre 
on the midnight train, and walked over to her own 
dwelling in the full moonshine of the October 
night, quite fearless and entirely exultant. 

But she was not to come off unscathed. There 
was a scene of wild commotion at the parsonage 
next day, when Rosa's letter, modeled on that of 
the last novel heroine she had become acquainted 
with, was found on her bureau, as per novel afore 
said. 

With her natural thoughtlessness she assured her 
parents that she " fled not uncompanioned," that 
her " kind and all but maternal friend, Miss Celia 
Barnes, would accompany her to the altar, and give 
her support and her countenance to the solemn cere 
mony that should make Rosabel Stearns the blessed 
wife of Amos Barker ! " 

It was all the minister could do not to swear as 
he read this astounding letter. His flabby face 
grew purple ; his fat, sallow hands shook with rage ; 
he dared not speak, he only sputtered, for he knew 
that profane and unbecoming words would surely 
leap from his tongue if he set it free ; but he must 
he really must do or say something ! So he 
clapped on his old hat, and with coat tails flying in 
the breeze, and rage in every step, set out to find 
Celia Barnes ; and find her he did. 



HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 301 

It would be unpleasant, and it is needless, to 
depict this encounter ; language both unjust and 
unsavory smote the air and reverberated along 
the highway, for he met the spinster on her road 
to an engagement at Deacon Stiles's. Suffice it 
to say that both freed their minds with great en 
largement of opinion, and the parson wound up 
with, 

" And I never want to see you again inside of 
my house, you confounded old maid ! " 

" There ! that 's it ! " retorted Celia. " Ef I was 
n't an old maid, you would n't no more have darst 
to 'a' talked to me this way than nothin'. Ef I 'd 
had a man to stand up to ye you 'd have been 
dumber 'n Balaam's ass a great sight, afore it 
seen the angel, I mean. I swow to man, I b'lieve 
I 'd marry a hitchin'-post if 't was big enough to 
trounce ye. You great lummox, if I could knock 
ye over you would n't peep nor mutter agin, if I be 
a woman ! " 

And with a burst of furious tears that asserted 
her womanhood Miss Celia went her way. Her 
hands were clinched under her blanket-shawl, her 
e} r es red with angry rain, and as she walked on she 
soliloquized aloud : 

" I declare for 't, I b'lieve I 'd marry the Old Boy 
himself if he 'd ask me. I 'm sicker 'n ever of bein' 
an oil maid ! " 

" Be ye ? " queried a voice at her elbow. " PVaps, 
then, you might hear to me if I was to speak my 
mind, Celye." 



302 HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 

Celia jumped. As she said afterward, " I vum 
I thought 't was the Enemy, for certain ; and to 
think 't was only Deacon Everts ! " 

" Mercy me ! " she said now ; " is 't you, dea 
con ? " 

" Yes, it 's me ; and I think 't is a real provi 
dence I come up behind ye just in the nick of time. 
I 've sold my farm only last week, and I 've come 
to live on the street in that old red house of grand- 
sir's, that you mistrusted once I wanted you to buy. 
I 'm real lonesome sence I lost my partner " (he 
meant his wife), " and I 've been a-hangin' on by 
the edges the past two year ; hired help is worse 
than nothing onto a farm, and hard to get at that ; 
so I sold out, and I 'm a-movin' yet, but the old 
house looks forlorn enough, and I was intendin' to 
look about for a second ; so if you '11 have me, 
Celye, here I be." 

Celia looked at him sharply ; he was an apple- 
faced little man, with shrewd, twinkling eyes, a 
hard, dull red still lingering on his round cheeks in 
spite of the deep wrinkles about his pursed-up lips 
and around his eyelids ; his mouth gave him a con 
sequential and self-important air, to which the short 
stubbly hair, brushed up " like a blaze " above his 
forehead, added ; and his old blue coat with brass 
buttons, his homespun trousers, the old-fashioned 
aspect of his unbleached cotton shirt, all attested 
his frugality. Indeed, everybody knew that Deacon 
Everts was " near," and also that he had plenty of 
money, that is to say, far more than he could 



HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 303 

spend. He had no children, no near relations ; his 
first wife had died two years since, after long in- 
validism, and all her relations had moved far west. 
All this Celia knew and now recalled ; her wrath 
against Parson Stearns was yet fresh and vivid ; 
she remembered that Simeon Everts was senior 
deacon of the church, and had it in his power to 
make the minister extremely uncomfortable if he 
chose. I have never said Celia was a very good 
woman ; her religion was of the dormant type not 
uncommon nowadays ; she kept up its observances 
properly, and said her prayers every day, bestowed 
a part of her savings on each church collection, 
and was rated as a church-member "in good and 
regular standing ; " but the vital transforming 
power of that Christianity which means to "love 
the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and mind, 
and soul, and strength, and thy neighbor as thy 
self," had no more entered into her soul than it 
had into Deacon Everts's ; and while she would 
have honestly admitted that revenge was a very 
wrong sentiment, and entirely improper for any 
other person to cherish, she felt that she did well 
to be angry with Parson Stearns, and had a perfect 
right to " pay him off " in any way she could. 

Now here was her opportunity. If she said 
" Yes " to Deacon Everts, he would no doubt take 
her part. Her objections to housekeeping were 
set aside by the fact that the house-owner himself 
would have to do those heavy labors about the house 
which she must otherwise have hired a man to do ; 



304 HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 

and the cooking and the indoor work for two peo 
ple could not be so hard as to sew from house to 
house for her daily bread. In short, her mind was 
slowly turning favorably toward this sudden pro 
ject, but she did not want this wooer to be too sure ; 
so she said : " W-e-11, 't is a life sentence, as you 
may say, deacon, and I want to think on 't a spell. 
Let 's see, to-day 's Tuesday ; I '11 let ye know 
Thursday night, after prayer-meetiu'." 

" Well," answered the deacon. 

Blessed Yankee monosyllable that means so much 
and so little ; that has such shades of phrase and 
intention in its myriad inflections ; that is " yes," 
or " no," or " perhaps," just as you accent it ; that 
is at once preface and peroration, evasion and defi 
nition ! What would all New England speech be 
without " well " ? Even as salt without any savor, 
or pepper with no pungency. 

Now it meant to Miss Celia assent to her propo 
sition ; and in accordance the deacon escorted her 
home from meeting Thursday night, and received 
for reward a consenting answer. This was no love 
affair, but a matter of mere business. Deacon 
Everts needed a housekeeper, and did not want to 
pay out wages for one ; and Miss Celia's position 
she expressed herself as she put out her tallow can 
dle on that memorable night, and breathed out on 
the darkness the audible aspiration, " Thank good 
ness, I sha'n't hev to die an old maid ! " 

There was no touch of sanctifying love or con 
soling affection, or even friendly comradeship, in 



HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 305 

this arrangement ; it was as truly a marriage de 
convenance as was ever contracted in Paris itself, 
and when the wedding day came, a short month 
afterward, the sourest aspect of November skies 
threatening a drenching pour, the dead and sodden 
leaves that strewed the earth, the wailing northeast 
wind, even the draggled and bony old horse behind 
which they jogged over to Bassett Centre, seemed 
fit accompaniments to the degraded ceremony per 
formed by a justice of the peace, who concluded 
this merely legal compact, for Miss Celia stoutly 
refused to be married by Parson Stearns ; she would 
not be accessory to putting one dollar in his pocket, 
even as her own wedding fee. So she went home 
to the little red house on Bassett Street, and begun 
her married life by scrubbing the dust and dirt of 
years from the kitchen table, making biscuit for 
tea, washing up the dishes, and at last falling 
asleep during the deacon's long nasal prayer, 
wherein he wandered to the ends of the earth, and 
prayed fervently for the heathen, piteously un 
conscious that he was little better than a heathen 
himself. 

It did not take many weeks to discover to Celia 
what is meant by " the curse of a granted prayer." 
She could not at first accept the situation at all ; 
she was accustomed to enough food, if it was plain 
and simple, when she herself provided it ; but now 
it was hard to get such viands as would satisfy a 
healthy appetite. 

" You 've used a sight of pork, Celye," the dea- 



306 HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 

con would remonstrate. " My first never cooked 
half what you do. We shall come to want certain, 
if you 're so free-handed." 

" Well, Mr. Everts, there was n't a mite left 
to set by. We eat it all, and I did n't have no 
more 'n I wanted, if you did." 

" We must mortify the flesh, Celye. It 's hull- 
some to get up from your victuals hungry. Ye 
know what Scripter says, ' Jeshurun waxed fat an' 
kicked.' " 

" Well, I ain't Jeshurun, but I expect I shall be 
more likely to kick if I don't have enough to eat, 
when it 's only pork 'n' potatoes." 

" My first used to say them was the best, for 
steady victuals, of anything, and she never used but 
two codfish and two quarts of m'lasses the year 
round ; and as for butter, she was real sparin' ; 
she 'd fry our bread along with the salt pork, and 
't was just as good." 

" Look here ! " snapped Celia. " I don't want 
to hear no more about your ' first.' I 'm ready to 
say I wish 't she 'd ha' been your last too." 

" Well, well, well ! this is onseemly contention, 
Celye," sputtered the alarmed deacon. " Le' 's 
dwell together in unity so fur as we can, Mis' Ev 
erts. I have n't no intention to starve ye, none 
whatever. I only want to be keei'ful, so as we 
sha'n't have to fetch up in the poor-us." 

" No need to have a poor-house to home," mut 
tered Celia. 

But this is only a mild specimen of poor Celia's 



HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 307 

life as a married woman. She did not find the 
honor and glory of " Mrs." before her name a com 
pensation for the thousand evils that she "knew 
not of " when she fled to them as a desirable change 
from her single blessedness. Deacon Everts en 
tirely refused to enter into any of her devices 
against Parson Stearns ; he did not care a penny 
about Celia's wrongs, and he knew very well that 
no other man than dreamy, unpractical Mr. Stearns, 
who eked out his minute pittance by writing school- 
books of a primary sort, would put up with four 
hundred dollars a year from his parish ; yet that 
was all Bassett people would pay. If they must 
have the gospel, they must have it at the lowest 
living rates, and everybody would not assent to 
that. 

So Celia found her revenge no more feasible 
after her marriage than before, and, gradually 
absorbed in her own wrongs and sufferings, her 
desire to reward Mr. Stearns in kind for his treat 
ment of her vanished ; she thought less of his futile 
wrath and more of her present distresses every 
day. 

For Celia, like everybody who profanes the sac 
rament of marriage, was beginning to suffer the 
consequences of her misstep. As her husband's 
mean, querulous, loveless character unveiled itself 
in the terrible intimacy of constant and inevitable 
companionship, she began to look woefully back to 
the freedom and peace of her maiden days. She 
learned that a husband is by no means his wife's 



308 HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 

defender always, not even against reviling tongues. 
It did not suit Deacon Everts to quarrel with any 
one, whatever they said to him, or of him and his ; 
he " did n't want no enemies," and Celia bitterly 
felt that she must fight her own battles ; she had 
not even an ally in her husband. She became not 
only defiant, but also depressed ; the consciousness 
of a vital and life-long mistake is not productive of 
cheer or content ; and now, admitted into the free 
masonry of married women, she discovered how few 
among them were more than household drudges, 
the servants of their families, worked to the verge 
of exhaustion, and neither thanked nor rewarded 
for their pains. She saw here a woman whose chil 
dren were careless of, and ungrateful to her, and 
her husband coldly indifferent ; there was one 011 
whom the man she had married wreaked all his 
fiendish temper in daily small injuries, little vexa 
tious acts, petty tyrannies, a " street-angel, house- 
devil " of a man, of all sorts the most hateful. 
There were many whose lives had no other outlook 
than hard work until the end should come, who rose 
up to labor and lay down in sleepless exhaustion, 
and some whose days were a constant terror to 
them from the intemperate brutes to whom they 
had intrusted their happiness, and indeed their 
whole existence. 

It was no worse with Celia than with most of her 
sex in Bassett ; here and there, there were of course 
exceptions, but so rare as to be shining examples 
and objects of envy. Then, too, after two years, 



HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 309 

there came forlorn accounts of poor Rosabel's situa 
tion at the west. Amos Barker had done his best 
at first to make his wife comfortable, but change of 
place or new motives do not at once, if ever, trans 
form an indolent man into an active and efficient 
one. He found work in his brother's office, but it 
was the hard work of collecting bills all about the 
country ; the roads were bad, the weather as fluc 
tuating as weather always is, the climate did not 
agree with him, and he got woefully tired of driving 
about from dawn till after dark, to dun unwilling 
debtors. Rosa had chills and fever and babies with 
persistent alacrity ; she had indeed enough to eat, 
with no appetite, and a house, with no strength to 
keep it. She grew untidy, listless, hysterical ; and 
her father, getting worried by her despondent and 
infrequent letters, actually so far roused himself 
as to sell his horse, and with this sacrificial money 
betook himself to Mound Village, where he found 
Rosabel with two babies in her arms, dust an inch 
deep on all her possessions, nothing but pork, pota 
toes, and corn bread in the pantry, and a slatternly 
negress washing some clothes in a kitchen that made 
the parson shudder. 

The little man's heart was bigger than his soul. 
He put his arms about Rosa and the dingy babies, 
and forgave her all ; but he had to say, even while 
he held them closely and fondly to his breast, " Oh, 
Rosy, I told you what would happen if you married 
that fellow." 

Of course Rosa resented the speech, for, after all, 



310 HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 

she had loved Amos ; perhaps could love him still 
if the poverty and malaria and babies could have 
all been eliminated from her daily life. 

Fortunately the parson's horse had sold well, for 
it was strong and young, and the rack of venerable 
bones with which he replaced it was bought very 
cheap at a farmer's auction, so he had money 
enough to carry Rosa and the two children home 
to Bassett, where two months after she added an 
other feeble, howling cipher to the miserable sum 
of humanity. 

Miss no, Mrs. Celia's conscience stung her 
to the quick when she encountered this ghastly 
wreck of pretty Rosabel Stearns, now called Mrs. 
Barker. She remembered with deep regret how 
she had given aid and comfort to the girl who had 
defied and disobeyed parental counsel and author 
ity, and so brought on herself all this misery. She 
fancied that Parson Stearns glared at her with eyes 
of bitter accusation and reproach, and not improb 
ably he did, for beside his pity and affection for 
his daughter, it was no slight burden to take into 
his house a feeble woman with two children help 
less as babies, and to look forward to the expense 
and anxiety of another soon to come. And Mrs. 
Stearns had never loved Rosa well enough to be 
complacent at this addition to her family cares. She 
gave the parson no sympathy. It would have been 
her way to let Rosabel lie on the bed she had made, 
and die there if need be. But the poor worn-out 
creature died at home, after all, and the third baby 



HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 311 

lay on its mother's breast in her coffin : they had 
gone together. 

Celia felt almost like a murderess when she heard 
that Rosabel Barker was dead. She did not reflect 
that in all human probability the girl would have 
married Amos if she, Celia, had refused to help or 
encourage her. It began to be an importunate 
question in our friend's mind whether she herself 
had not made a mistake too ; whether the phrase 
" single blessedness " was not an expression of a 
vital truth rather than a scoff. Celia was changing 
her mind no doubt, surely if slowly. 

Meantime Deacon Everts did not find all the sat 
isfaction with his " second " that he had antici 
pated. Celia had a will of her own, quite undisci 
plined, and it was too often asserted to suit her lord 
and master. Secretly he planned devices to cir 
cumvent her purposes, and sometimes succeeded. 
In prayer-meeting and in Sunday-school the idea 
haunted him ; his malice lay down and rose up with 
him. Even when he propounded to his Bible class 
the important question, " How fur be the heathen 
ree-sponsible for what they dun know?" and asked 
them " to ponder on 't through the comin' week," 
he chuckled inwardly at the thought that Celia 
could not evade her responsibility ; she knew 
enough, and would be judged accordingly : the dea 
con was not a merciful man. 

At last he hit upon that great legal engine 
whereby men do inflict the last deadly kick upon 
their wives : he would remodel his will. Yes, he 



312 HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 

would leave those gathered thousands to foreign mis- 
sions ; be would leave behind him the indisputable 
testimony and taunt that he considered the wife of 
his bosom less than the savages and heathen afar 
off. He forgot conveniently that the man " who 
provideth not for his own household hath denied 
the faith, and is worse than an infidel." And in 
his delight of revenge he also forgot that the law 
of the land provides for a man's wife and children 
in spite of his wicked will. Nor did he remember 
that his life-insurance policy for five thousand 
dollars was made out in his wife's name, simply as 
his wife, her own name not being specified. He 
had paid the premium always from his " first's " 
small annual income, and agreed that it should be 
written for her benefit, but he supposed that at her 
death it had reverted to him. He forgot that he 
still had a wife when he mentioned that policy in 
his assets recorded in the will, and to save money 
he drew that evil document up himself, and had it 
signed down at " the store " by three witnesses. 

Celia had borne her self-imposed yoke for four 
years, when it was suddenly broken. A late crop 
of grass was to be mowed in mid-July on the 
meadow which appertained to the old house, and 
the deacon, now some seventy years old, to save 
hiring help, determined to do it by himself. The 
grass was heavy and over-ripe, the day extremely 
hot and breathless, and the grim Mower of Man 
trod side by side with Simeon Everts, and laid him 
too, all along by the rough heads of timothy and 



HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 313 

the purpled feather-tops of the blue-grass. He did 
not come home at noon or at night, and when Celia 
went down to the lot to call him he heard no sum 
mons of hers ; he had answered a call far more 
imperative and final. 

After the funeral Celia found his will pushed 
back in the deep drawer of an old secretary, where 
he kept his one quill pen, a bottle of dried ink, a 
lump of chalk, some rat-poison, and various other 
odds and ends. 

She was indignant enough at its tenor ; but it 
was easily broken, and she not only had her 
' thirds," but the life policy reverted to her also, 
as it was made out to Simeon Everts's wife, and 
surely she had occupied that position for four 
wretched years. Then, also, she had a right to her 
support for one year out of the estate, and the use 
of the house for that time. 

Oh, how sweet was her freedom ! With her 
characteristic honesty she refused to put on mourn 
ing, and even went to the funeral in her usual gray 
Sunday gown and bonnet. " I won't lie, anyhow ! " 
she answered to Mrs. Stiles's remonstrance. " I 
ain't a mite sorry nor mournful. I could ha' wished 
he 'd had time to repent of his sins, but sence the 
Lord saw fit to cut him short, I don't feel to rebel 
ag'inst it. I wish 't I 'd never married him, that 's 
all ! " 

" But, Celye, you got a good livin'." 

" I earned it." 

" And he 's left ye with means too." 



314 HOW CELT A CHANGED HER MIND. 

" He done his best not to. I don't owe him 
nothing for that ; and I earned that too, the hull 
on 't. It 's poor pay for what I 've lived through ; 
and I 'm a'most a mind to call it the wages of sin, 
for I done wrong, ondeniably wrong, in marry in' 
of him ; but the Lord knows I 've repented, and 
said my lesson, if I did get it by the hardest." 

Yet all Basse tt opened eyes and mouth both when 
on the next Thanksgiving Day Celia invited every 
old maid in town seven all told to take dinner 
with her. Never before had she celebrated this 
old New England day of solemn revel. A woman 
living in two sma 1 ! rooms could not "keep the 
feast," and rarely had she been asked to any fam 
ily conclave. Wft Yankees are conservative at 
Thanksgiving if nowhere else, and like to gather 
our own people only about the family hearth ; so 
Celia had but orce or twice shared the turkeys of 
her more fortunate neighbors. 

Now she called in Nabby Hyde and Sarah Gil- 
lett, Ann Smith, Celestia Potter, Delia Hills, So- 
phronia Ann Jenkins and her sister Adelia Ann, 
ancient twins, who lived together on next to no 
thing, and were happy. 

Celia bloomed at the head of the board, not with 
beauty, but with gratification. " Well," she said, 
as soon as they were seated, " I sent for ye all to 
come because I wanted to have a good time, for one 
thing, and because it seems as though I 'd ought to 
take back all the sassy and disagreeable things I 
to be forever flingin' at old maids. ' I spoke 



HOW CELIA CHANGED HEE MIND. 315 

in my haste,' as Scripter says, and also in my igno 
rance, I 'm free to confess. I feel as though I 
could keep Thanksgivin' to-day with my hull soul. 
I 'm so thankful to be an old maid ag'in ! " 

" I thought you was a widder," snapped Sally 
Gillett. 

Celia flung a glance of wrath at her, but scorned 
to reply. 

" And I 'm thankful too that I 'm spared to help 
ondo somethin' done in that ignorance. I 've got 
means, and, as I 've said before, I earned 'em. I 
don't feel noway obleeged to him for 'em ; he 
did n't mean it. But now I can I 'm goin' to 
adopt Rosy Barker's two children, and fetch 'em 
up to be dyed-in-the-wool old maids ; and every year, 
so long as I live, I 'm goin' to keep an old maids' 
Thanksgivin' for a kind of a burnt-offering, sech as 
the Bible tells about, for I 've changed my mind 
clear down to the bottom, and I go the hull figure 
with the 'postle Paul when he speaks about the 
onmarried, ' It is better if she so abide.' Now let 's 
go to work at the victuals." 



A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY 
MOUSE. 

" WELL, Mis' Phelps, I 'm reelly a-goin' to Glover 
to see Melindy at last. I be, pos'tive. Don't seem 
as though it could be true, 't is so long sence I sot 
eyes on her ; and I 've lotted on it so much, and 
tried so often and failed up on 't, that I can't hardly 
believe in 't now it 's comin' to pass. But I be a-goin' 
now, sure as you live, Providence permittin'." 

The speaker was a small, thin old woman, alert 
and active as a chickadee, with a sharp twitter in 
her voice, reminding one still more of that small 
black and gray bird that cheers us with his gay 
defiance of winter, though he utter it from a fir 
bough bent to the ground with heavy snows. Her 
dark gray hair was drawn into a tight knot at the 
back of her head ; her tear-worn eyes shone with a 
pathetic sort of lustre, as if joy were stranger to 
them than grief ; her thin lips wore a doubtful 
smile, but still the traces of a former dimple, under 
that smiling influence, creased itself in one lined 
and sallow cheek. You saw at a glance that she 
had worked hard always ; her small hands were 
knotted at the joints and callous in the palms ; her 
shoulders were slightly bent. And you saw, too, 
that poverty had enforced her labor, for her dress, 



A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 317 

though scrupulously neat, and shaped with a certain 
shy deference to the fashion of the day, was of poor 
material and scant draperies. 

Amanda Hart was really a remarkable woman, 
but she did not know it. Her life had been one 
long struggle with poverty and illness in her fam 
ily, to whom she was utterly devoted. She had 
earned her living in one way or another as long as 
she could remember. Her mother died when she 
was a mere child, and her father was always a 
" shiftless," miserable creature, in his later years 
the prey of a slow yet fatal disease, dying by inches 
of torture that defied doctors and wrung poor 
Amanda's heart with helpless sympathy. 

All these years she not only nursed, but sup 
ported him ; scrubbed, sewed, washed, did any 
thing that brought in a little money ; for there were 
doctors' bills to pay, besides the very necessities of 
life to be obtained. Her one comfort was her sister 
Melinda, a child ten years younger than Amanda, 
a rosy, sturdy, stolid creature, on whom the elder 
sister lavished all the deep love of a heart that was 
to know no other maternity. At last death mer 
cifully removed old Anson Hart to some other place, 
he had long been useless here ; but before that 
relief came, Melinda, by this time a young woman, 
had married a farmer in Glover, and Amanda had 
moved into Munson, and was there alone. She 
" kinder scratched along," as she phrased it, and 
earned her living, if no more, in the various ways 
Yankee ingenuity can discover in a large country 



318 A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 

town. She bad friends who helped her to employ 
ment, and always made her welcome in their homes ; 
for her quaint shrewdness, her very original use, or 
misuse, of language, her humor, and her kind heart 
were all pleasant to have about. 

Melinda's marriage was a brief experience. 
She was left a widow at the end of two years, with 
a small house and an acre of land ; and there she 
lived alone, on a lonely country road, three miles 
from the village of Glover, and with no other house 
in sight. 

" I guess it is as good as I can do," she wrote to 
Amanda. " I can't sell the house, and there 's quite 
a piece of garden to it, besides some apple-trees 
and quince bushes. Garden sass always was the 
most of my living, and there 's some tailoring to be 
did, so as that I can get a little cash. Then folks 
are glad to have somebody around killing times and 
sech like. Mary Ann Barker used to do that, but 
she 's been providentially removed by death, so I 
can step right into her shoes. I guess, any way, 
I '11 chance it for a spell, and see how it works." 

Melinda had "faculty," and her scheme did 
" work " so well that she lived in the tiny house 
for years, and in all that time Amanda had not seen 
her. It was a long journey, and money was hard 
to get. Perhaps Melinda might have gathered 
enough to take the journey, but she was by no 
means affectionate or sentimental. Life was a 
steady grind to her ; none of its gentle amenities 
flourished in the red house. She had her " livin' " 



A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 319 

and was independent : that sufficed her. But 
Amanda was more eager every year to see her sis 
ter. She thought of her by day and dreamed of 
her by night ; and after fifteen years her cracked 
teapot at last held coin enough for the expedition. 
Her joy was great, and the tremulous, sweet old 
face was pathetic in its constant smiling. She 
planned her journey as she sat at work, and poured 
her anticipations into all the neighbors' ears till 
their sympathy was well worn out. 

But at last the day came. Amanda's two rooms 
were set in order, the windows closed, every fly 
chased out with the ferocity that inspires women 
against that intrusive insect, and the fire was raked 
down to its last spark the night before. 

" I don't care for no breakfast," she said to the 
good woman in whose house she lived. " I should 
have to bile the kettle and have a cup and plate to 
wash up ; and like enough the cloth 'd get mildewy, 
if I left it damp. I '11 jest take a dry bite in my 
clean han'k'chief. I 've eet up all my victuals but 
two cookies and a mite of cheese that I saved a 
puppus." 

" Why, Mandy Hart ! you 're all of a twitter ! 
Set right down here and hev a cup o' tea 'long o' 
me. You 've got heaps o' time ; now don't ye get 
into a swivet ! " 

" Well, Mis' Phelps, I thank you kindly ; a drop 
of tea will taste proper good. I expect I be sort o' 
nervy, what with takin' a journey and the thought 
o' seein' Melindy. Now you tell : do I look good 



320 A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 

enough to go travelin' ? I thought, first off, to 
wear the gown Mis' Swift give me, that Henery- 
ette, I b'lieve she called it ; but I 've sponged and 
pressed it till it looks as good as new, and I sort 
o' hate to set on 't in the dust o' them cars all day. 
I thought mabbe this stripid gown would do." 

" You look as slick as a pin," Mrs. Phelps 
answered. 

It was an odd pin, then ! The " stripid " dress 
was both short and scant even for Amanda's little 
figure ; it did not conceal an ancient pair of pru 
nella shoes that use had well fitted to her distorted 
feet, and her ankle-bones, enlarged with rheuma 
tism, showed like doorknobs under her knit cotton 
stockings. Over her dress she wore a brown linen 
duster, shiny with much washing and ironing, and 
her queer little face beamed from under a wide 
black straw hat wreathed with a shabby band of 
feather trimming. 

But she did not look amiss or vulgar, and the joy 
that shone in her eyes would have transfigured sack 
cloth, and turned ashes into diamond dust. She 
was going to see Melinda ! The unsatisfied mother 
heart in her breast beat fast at the thought. Neither 
absence nor silence had cooled this one love of her 
life. 

" I expect I shall enjoy the country dretfully," she 
said to Mrs. Phelps. " It 's quite a spell sence I 've 
been there. Mother, she set such store by green 
things, trees and sech, and cinnament roses, and 
fennel. My land ! she talked about 'em all through 



A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 321 

her last sickness, even when she was dangerous. 
I shall be proper glad to get out to Glover." 

Poor soul ! all this meant Melinda. 

So she trotted off to the station, with her lunch 
tied up in a handkerchief in one hand and her 
cotton umbrella in the other, a boy following with 
her old cow-skin trunk on a wheelbarrow. lie 
was a bad boy, for on the way he picked up an 
advertisement of a hair restorer and fastened it upon 
that bald trunk, chuckling fiendishly. But this 
was lost on Amanda ; she paid him his quarter with 
an ambient smile, and mounted the car steps with 
sudden agility. The car was not full, so she sat 
down next a window, struggled with a pocketful of 
various things to find her ticket, thrust it inside 
her glove, to be ready, and resigned herself to the 
journey. Outside the window were broad fields 
green with new grass, budding forests, bright and 
tranquil rivers, distant mountains, skies of spring, 
blue to their depths, and flecked with white cloud- 
fleeces ; but they were lost on Amanda. She had 
not inherited her mother's tastes : she saw in all 
this glory only Melinda, the rosy girl who had left 
her so long ago ; to that presence she referred all 
nature, wondering if this quiet farmhouse were like 
that at Glover, if Melinda's apple-trees had 
bloomed like those on the hillsides she passed, or 
if her sister could see those far-off hills from her 
windows. It was a long day. The " dry bite " 
was a prolonged meal to our traveler. Every 
crumb was eaten slowly, in order to pass the weary 



322 A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 

time. Nobody spoke to her ; the busy conductor 
had short answers for her various questions. She 
was tired, dusty, and half homesick when at last 
that official put his head in at the door and yelled : 
" Sha-drach ! Sha-drach ! Sha-drach ! Change 
for Medway, Racketts-Town, and Glover ! " 

So Amanda grasped her handkerchief, and, helped 
by her sturdy umbrella, for she was stiff with long 
sitting, found her way to the door, and was, as she 
phrased it, " yanked " off the steps upon the plat 
form by an impatient brakeman. Why should he- 
be civil to a poor old woman ? Fortunately for her, 
th^e stage for Glover stood just across the platform, 
and she saw the driver shoulder her bare brass- 
nailed trunk which was duly directed to Melinda 
and Glover. A long five miles lay before her. 
The driver was not talkative, she was the only 
passenger, and it seemed a journey in itself before 
the stage drew up at the gate in front of Mrs. 
Melinda Perkins's farmhouse, and she came out of 
the door to meet her sister. A faint color rose to 
Amanda's cheek, her lips trembled, her eyes glit 
tered, but she only said, " Well, here I be." 

Melinda smiled grimly. She was not used to 
smiling ; there was no sensitive shyness about her. 
Tall and muscular, her heavy face, her primmed- 
up mouth, her hard eyes glooming under that deep 
fold on the lids that in moments of anger narrows the 
eye to a slit and gives it a snaky gleam, her flat, low 
forehead, from which the dull hair was strained 
back and tightly knotted behind, all told of a 



A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 323 

narrow, severe nature, at once jealous and loveless, 
the very antithesis of Amanda's. It is true, she 
stooped and kissed her sister, but the kiss was as 
frigid as the nip of a clamshell. 

" Come in," she said, in an overbearing voice. 
" Hiram Young, you fetch that trunk in right hero 
into the bedroom." 

"You '11 hev to sleep 'long o' me, Mandy," 
announced Melinda, as she swung open her bed- 
room door, " for the' ain't no other place to sleep." 

" Why, I sha'nt object, not a mite," beamed 
Amanda. " It '11 seem like old times. But you 've 
growed a sight, Melindy." 

" I think likely, seein' it 's quite a spell since you 
see me ; but I 've growed crossways, I guess," and 
Melinda gave a hard cackle. 

" How nice you 're fixed up, too ! " said admiring 
Amanda, as she looked about her in the twilight of 
green paper shades and spotless cotton curtains. 
The room was too neat for comfort ; there was a 
fluffy, airless scent about it ; the only brightness 
came from the glittering brasses of the bureau, 
that even in that half-dark shimmered in well- 
scoured splendor. Outside, the sweet June day 
was gently fading, full of fresh odors and young 
breezes ; but not a breath entered that apartment, 
for even a crack of open window might admit a 
fly! 

Melinda introduced her guest to a tiny closet on 
one side of the chimney, and then went out to get 
tea, leaving Amanda to unpack her trunk. This 



324 A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 

was soon done, for even that small closet was more 
than roomy enough for her other dress, her duster, 
and her hat ; so that she soon followed her sister, 
guided by savory odors of hot biscuit, " picked " 
codfish, and wild strawberries. This was indeed a 
feast to the " town mouse ; " such luxuries as raised 
biscuit and aromatic wild fruit were not to be 
indulged in at her own home, and she enjoyed them 
even more for the faint, delicious odor of old-fash 
ioned white roses stealing in at the open door, the 
scent of vernal grass in the meadows, the rustle of 
new leaves on the great maple that shaded the 
house-corner, and the sharp chirp of two saucy 
robins hopping briskly about the yard. 

It was delightful to Amanda, but when night shut 
down the silence settled on her like a pall ; she 
missed the click of feet on the pavement, the rattle 
of horse cars, the distant shriek of railway trains. 
There was literally not a sound ; the light wind 
had died away, and it was too early in the season for 
crickets or katydids, too late for the evening love- 
songs of toads and frogs. 

In vain did she try to sleep ; she lay hour after 
hour " listening to the silence," and trying not to 
stir, lest she should wake Melinda. Had a mouse, 
her lifelong terror, squeaked or scratched in the 
wall, it would have relieved her ; but in this dead 
stillness there was that peculiar horror of a sense 
suddenly made useless that affects the open eye in 
utter darkness, or the palsied lips that can make no 
sound. 



A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 325 

Night seemed endless to the poor little woman ; 
but when at last birds began to awake and chirp to 
the gray dawn, she fell so soundly asleep that not 
even Melinda's rising, or the clatter of her prepa 
rations for breakfast in the next room, aroused her. 
But her sister's voice was effectual. 

"Be you a-goin' to sleep all day?" said that 
incisive and peremptory tongue. 

The question brought Amanda to her feet, quite 
ashamed of herself. 

" You see," she explained to Melinda at break 
fast, " I did n't get to sleep till nigh sun-risin', 't was 
so amazin' still." 

" Still ! That had ought to have made ye sleep. 
Well, I never did ! Now I can't sleep ef there 's 
a mite o' noise. I 'd hev kep' chickens but for 
that. Deacon Parker wanted to give me some o' 
his white Braymys, but I said : ' No ; I 've got 
peace and quietness, and I ain't goin' to have it 
broke up by roosters.' ' ; 

" I s'pose it 's accordin' as we 're used to 't," 
meekly replied Amanda, with an odd sense of being 
in the wrong, but she said no more ; she was begin 
ning to discover that it was not serene bliss to be 
with Melinda again. In their long separation she 
had forgotten her sister's hard and abrupt ways, 
and indeed in Melinda's solitary and very lonely 
life her angles had grown sharper and sharper ; no 
thing had worn them off. We can enjoy idealizing 
a friend, but the longer that ideal fills our hearts the 
harder does reality scourge us. Amanda could not 



326 A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 

have explained her heart-sinking to herself. She 
laid it to the isolation of her sister's house, and, 
while Melinda made bread, went out to walk a 
little way, to see if she could not enjoy the country. 
All about lay green fields, wooded hills, and bloom 
ing orchards : for spring was late here in Glover, 
and only the sheltered hillsides had cast all blossoms 
from the later trees. A deep sense of desolation 
clutched Amanda's homesick heart ; there was not 
a house to be seen, not even a curl of smoke to show 
that one might be hidden somewhere. Used all her 
days to the throng and bustle of a large town, she 
found this country peace unendurable. She went 
back to the house, took up her knitting, and tried to 
be conversational. 

" Have n't got any neighbors at all, have ye, 
Melindy ? " 

" Nearest is Deacon Parker, 'n' he lives three 
mild back behind Pond Hill." 

" My sakes ! what if you should be took sick ? " 

" But I ain't never took sick," snapped Melinda, 
looking like a sturdy oak-tree utterly incapable of 
ailments. 

" But you might be ; nobody knows when their 
time is comin'. Why, when I had the ammonia 
last year, I do'no but what I should ha' died, 
guess I should, if it had n't have been for the 
neighbors." 

" Well, I sha'n't go over no bridges till I come 
to 'em," sharply replied Melinda, paring her pota 
toes with extra energy. 



A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 327 

" Glover is quite a ways from here, ain't it ? " 
queried Amanda. 

" Three mild." 

Evidently Melinda was not given to talking, but 
Amanda would not be discouraged. 

" Don't have no county paper, do ye ? " 

" No, I have n't got no time to spend on them 
;hings. I can 'tend up to my own business, if 
)ther folks '11 take care of theirn." 

Amanda gave an inaudible sigh, and tried no 
nore conversation. After dinner Melinda did ask 
i few questions, in her turn, about old acquaint- 
mces, but her sister's prattle was effectually cut 
*hort. Never in her life had Amanda found a day 
?o dreary or a night so long, for she had it to dread 
beforehand. Even the sharp rattle and quick flash 
}f a June thunder-storm was a relief to her, for it 
woke Melinda, and sent her about the house to 
shut a window here and fasten down a scuttle there, 
and for a brief space kept her awake ; but after 
that little space the capable woman slept like a log, 
she did not even snore, and the night resumed 
its deadly silence. 

Oh, how Amanda longed for the living noises 
that she had so often scolded about in Munson ! The 
drunken cackle of men just out from the saloons, 
the rapid rush of a doctor's carriage whirling by in 
the small hours, a cross baby next door that would 
yell its loudest just when she was sleepiest, any, 
all of these would have been welcome in this ghastly 
stillness. 



328 A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 

The next day was Sunday, and when the rigidly 
recurring Sunday breakfast of baked beans and 
codfish balls was over Amanda inquired timidly: 

" Do you go to meetin' on the Sabbath, Me- 
lindy ? " 

" Well, I guess so ! We ain't clear heathen." 

" I did n't know but 't was too fur to walk." 

" 'T is, but Deacon Parker goes right a-past here, 
and stops for me. He's got a two-seater, and 
there '11 be room for you, for he don't take nobody 
but me and Widder Drake." 

"Where's Mis' Parker?" 

" I do'no. She 's dead." 

Amanda's eyes opened wide at this doubtful 
remark about the late Mrs. Parker, but she said 
nothing; she satisfied herself with watching Me- 
linda dress. Her Sunday garments were a black 
alpaca gown, shiny with age, what she called a 
" mantilly " of poor black silk edged with ema 
ciated fringe, and the crowning horror of a Leghorn 
bonnet, " cut down " from its ancient dimensions into 
a more modern scoop, but still a scoop. It was sur 
mounted with important bows of yellow-green satin 
ribbon and a fat pink rose with two stout buds. 
Amanda felt a chill run over her at this amazing 
head-gear. She did not know that the rose was 
Melinda's last protest against old age, her symbol 
of lingering youth, her " no surrender " flag. 

" Why don't you wear a hat, Melindy ? " she 
asked meekly, as she smoothed out the dejected band 
of her own. " Bunnets is all gone out down to 
Munson." 



A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 329 

" Well, they ain't here, and I don't think it 's 
seemly to wear them flats to meetin' j they '11 do 
to go a-huckleberryin' or fetchin' cows home from 
pastur', but, to my mind, they 're kinder childish 
for meetin'." 

Amanda said nothing, and just then the deacon 
drove up to the gate, a spare old man, with long, 
scanty white hair and red-rimmed, watery eyes. 
Amanda was duly presented. 

"Make you 'quainted with my sister, Mandy 
Hart, down to Munson." 

" Pleased to see ye," bobbed Deacon Parker, with 
a toothless grin. " I 'd get out to help ye in, but old 
Whitey don't never stand good without tyin' ; and 
gener'lly Mis' Drake holds her, but she 's gone to 
Shadrach this week back. She 's gardeen to a 
child over there, and there 's some court business 
about the prop'ty." 

" Lawsy ! we can get in good enough," said 
Melinda, alertly climbing over the hind wheel, and 
helping Amanda to follow. 

" Spry, ain't she ? " said the deacon to Amanda, 
with another void and formless smile. " Huddup, 
Whitey ! We don't want to be late to the sanc- 
tooary." 

The drive was beautiful, and gave poor Amanda 
a gentler opinion of the country. It wound by 
little silver brooks, under the fragrant gloom of 
pine woods, and the sweet breath of the fields filled 
her weak lungs with new life. But alas ! the 
meeting-house was a square barn with a sharp 



330 A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 

steeple, and as she sat down on the bare seat of 
a corner pew, and choked with the dead odors of 
" meetin'-seed," the musty chill of the past week, 
the camphor that exhaled from Sunday clothes 
but recently taken from their wintry repose, and 
the smell of boots that had brought their scent of 
stable and barnyard, she longed to be back in the 
handsome, well-ventilated church at Munson, with 
the soft rustle of a well-dressed, perfumy congrega 
tion about her, and the sound of a fine organ and 
well-trained choir in her ears, offended now by the 
tuneless squalls and growls of these country sing 
ers. Poor town mouse ! She was ready to exclaim 
with the mouse of Horace : 

" But, Lord, my friend, this savage scene ! " 

That very night she told Melinda that she must 
leave her on Tuesday, on account of promised work, 
and accordingly Tuesday saw her safely back again 
in dear Munson. Her tiny rooms seemed like a 
refuge to her, as she opened the blinds and let in 
the warm air. Her natural vivacity, subdued by 
Melinda and the solitude of the country, returned. 

" Goodness gracious, Mis' Phelps ! " Amanda 
exclaimed to her landlady, " I would n't no more 
live in the country than nothin'. Why 't was as 
still as a ear-trumpet out there. I 'd ha' give all 
my old shoes to ha' heard a street car or a coal 
wagon a-rumblin' by. And lonesome ! There 
was n't so much as a rooster a-predicatin' by in the 
road. I thought I should die for want of knowin' 



A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 331 

I was alive ; and the nighttime shuts down onto ye 
like a pot-lid. You know you can't go marvelin' 
round in other folks' houses. I jest had to set and 
knit daytimes, and sense the lonesomeness. I know 
I should have shockauuni palsy if I had to stay 
there. Melindy is comin' to see me for a spell 
early in July, about the Fourth, when it 's kinder 
lively, and I guess 't '11 wake her up some." 

" I expect you had good country victuals and 
plenty o' flowers, though ? " asked Mrs. Phelps, in 
the indirect Yankee fashion. 

" Well, I did. Melindy 's a most an excellent 
cook, and the' was a patch of wild strawberries 
growed to the south side of her old barn that was 
ripe a'ready ; they have got taste into 'em, I tell 
ye ! But, land ! victuals and drink ain't the chief 
o' my diet. I 'm real folksy ; grasshoppers ain't no 
neighbors to me. I want to be amongst them that '11 
talk back to me ; not dumb things that won t never 
say nothing if you should merang 'em all day." 

" Why, how you talk ! How does Mis' Perkins 
stan' it?" 

" I do'no. I expect she 's hardened to it, as 
you may say. / 'd jest as lives set down on a slab 
in the sempitery all my days as to stay out to 
Melindy's. I do'no but I 'd ruther ; for there 'd be 
funerals, and mourners, and folks comin' to dese- 
srate the graves with flowers, and sech, inter venin' 
'most every day there. 'T would be real lively in 
comparison with Melindy's house." 

Now Amanda set herself to adorn her little rooms 



332 A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 

and keep them in spotless order till her sister should 
come ; and when that happy day arrived she met 
her at the station, her smiling old face as pleasant 
as a hollyhock blossom. 

" If I ain't tickled, now ! " she beamed on 
Melinda. " I 've reelly got you here." 

" I said I 'd come, did n't I ? " answered Melinda, 
with a laborious smile. " I have n't fetched no 
great of clothes, for I can't stay long; fruit is 
comin' in, and I 've got to make preserves for quite 
a few folks down to Glover." 

She secretly blessed herself for making this 
announcement early, when she reached Amanda's 
little tenement : two rooms over a grocer's store, 
redolent with smells of kerosene, cloves, pepper, 
and the like, added to the fumes of bad tobacco 
from customers' pipes. 

Not only smells, but dust and the^heat of a 
blazing July day added to her discomfort, though 
she had the grace not to complain ; and when 
Amanda had laid aside that wonderful " bunnet," 
and set Melinda by the north window with a fan, 
the country mouse felt a little more comfortable. 
The tea daunted her ; she could not eat the sliced 
" Bolony," as Amanda called it ; the baker's bread 
was dust and ashes to her taste ; the orange mar 
malade found no favor, though it was a delicacy 
Amanda had kept for this special purpose, the gift 
of a friend. Poor Melinda gave afterward a graphic 
description of this dainty meal to Deacon Parker. 

" I never see sech victuals in my life ! No won- 



A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTS Y MOUSE. 333 

der Mandy 's lean. Cake and bread jest like saw 
dust, and, if you '11 believe it, raw sassages, actooally 
raw, sliced up on a dish ! I never could eat raw 
meat, much less pork. And the preserves was as 
bitter as boneset ! I went hungry to bed, you 'd 
better believe." 

Yet worse was in store for the country mouse. 
Amanda had given up her bed to her visitor, and 
lain down on the sitting-room lounge ; and though 
it was a breathless night, at first Melinda slept, she 
was so tired, in spite of the noisy horse cars, rat 
tling wagons, and click of feet. 

It was the night of the third of July, and as a 
neighboring church clock struck twelve the first 
giant cracker exploded right under the bedroom 
window. Roused by the crash, that was followed 
fast by 'another and another, Melinda started up in 
all the terror of darkness and din, screaming: 

" Mandy ! Mandy ! where be ye ? What on 
earth 's the matter ? " 

Smiling superior, though but half awake, Amanda 
answered : 

" 'T ain't nothin' ; it 's the Fourth, and them 
boys is a-settin' off crackers. Pesky little sarpents ! 
I s'pose there is a puppus in boys, but I 've wished 
frequent that men growed out o' somethin' more 
pleasant. You turn over an' go to sleep, sister ; 
the' won't nothin' do ye no harm." 

" Oh-h ! " shrieked Melinda again, as a cannon 
roared from the green close by, and then the whole 
pandemonium set in. 



334 A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 

The cat Civilization, with the ribbon of simulated 
patriotism round its neck, set upon our country 
mouse now with feline fury. Every noise that 
could be made by gunpowder, horns, or bells, as 
well as yelling boys, crashed upon this poor wo 
man's head till she was all but crazy. How she 
longed for the sweet quiet of her own home, and 
longed in vain, for she could not get away ! Stern 
and silent as she seemed to be, she was but a wo 
man, and a real feminine panic ensued. 

Amanda had her hands full for the rest of the 
night. Her panacea of "red lavender" was use 
less, and this was no case for her favorite salve that 
cured everything. She fanned Melinda, soothed 
her as she best knew how, and tried with all her 
heart to comfort and compose the frightened wo 
man, steadied herself by a shy sense of superiority 
and courage to which Melinda could not attain. 
But not until sunrise dispersed the crowd of cele- 
brators, and a sort of silence replaced the clamor, 
could Melinda close her eyes and snatch a nap be 
fore breakfast. 

Coffee, steak, and stewed potato she could eat 
when that breakfast came ; and later on, when 
Amanda said timidly, "Would you like to walk 
out a ways ? 'T is n't quite so hot, and we can 
get a good place to see the percession," Melinda 
did not refuse. She was glad to get out-of-doors, 
but nothing could induce her to ride in the horse 
cars ; so Amanda guided her about the pretty town, 
showed her the public buildings, the fine houses of 



A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 335 

summer residents, the various churches, and the gay 
shop- windows, till, worn out, they sat down on one 
of the hard benches set here and there on the green, 
to wait for the event of the day. 

" Who goes into the pr'cession ? " inquired Me- 
linda. 

" Oh, fire comp'nies, an' temperance s'cieties, the 
perlice, and th' elect men. Bands, too, brass 
bands with instermeuts." 

Melinda stared her fill at the melange that soon 
wheeled by. 

" Say, Mandy, what be them fellers with muffs 
on their heads, a-throwin' up sticks and ketchin' of 
'em ? " 

" They call 'em drum majors, I b'lieve, though 
I don't see no drums. I do lot on seein' 'em al 
ways, they 're so pompious, and yet so spry. Look ! 
d' ye see that one catch his batten an' twirl it ? " 

Melinda nodded her great bonnet, which had all 
day attracted nearly as much attention as she be 
stowed on the drum majors, but she was tired 
enough to go home now and enjoy a cold dinner. 

Perhaps she thought the terrors of the day were 
over, but they were not. For years before her mar 
riage they had all lived in the deep country, so that 
the most common sights of the town were unknown 
to her ; and when Amanda insisted on her going 
out to see the fireworks that wound up that holi 
day, Melinda's nerves received another shock. The 
star-dropping rockets, the spitting pinwheels, the 
soft roar of Roman candles, the blare of " set " 



336 A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTS Y MOUSE. 

pieces, neither pleased nor interested her : she was 
in terror lest those irresponsible fire-flakes should 
light on her Sunday bonnet, and every fierce rush 
of a rocket made her jump with fresh fear. 

" Don't say no more, Mandy ! " she declared the 
next day, when her sister tried to have her stay 
longer. " I 've got to go. I could n't stan' it an 
other minute. I 'in real obleeged to ye for what 
ye 've did to make it pleasant for me, but I can't 
stan' a town. I 'm all broke up a'ready, and I 'm 
as homesick as a cat to get back. I 'd rather have 
a hovil out in the lots than a big house here. 
There 's too many other folks here for me. I wish 
't you 'd come out to Glover and make it home 
'long o' me." 

" Land, Melindy ! I could n't live there an 
hour. I should die of clear lonesomeness, I know 
I should. Why, when I had the neurology in my 
diagram, last winter, and there come a dretful snow, 
so as that the neighbors could n't none of 'em hap 
pen in, I thought 't would finish me up. What 
should I do if I was took sick to your house ? No 
doctor, no folks around ! It makes me caterpiller 
to think on't. But I 'm jest as obleeged, and I 
hope you '11 come to Munson some time when 't 
ain't the Fourth." 

So Melinda went back to her solitude, and 
Amanda settled down again to her town life, yet 
with a vague sense of trouble. She could not have 
defined it, but it really was the consciousness that, 
having obtained her heart's desire, it had not 



A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 837 

satisfied her. We all come to it sooner or later. 
" I shall be satisfied, when I awake, with thy like 
ness," says David. Is not the phrase a tacit con 
fession that nothing on earth had ever satisfied him, 
king and poet as he was ? 

A month or two after Melinda went back to 
Glover, Amanda received a more positive, an ap 
preciable shock in the following letter : 

DEAR MANDY, I take my pen in hand to in 
form you that I am usually well and hope you en 
joy the same blessing. I have been busy continual 
sence I come back, finding quite a little to do about 
the house and gardin. 

I supose I had better speak wright out, though 
you will be some surprised I expect to hear that I am 
intending for to change my condishun soon. Fact 
is Deacon Parker and I calculate to be joined in 
the bans of Matrimony Monday next, 'twas quite 
onexpected to me when he spoke, but after a think 
ing of it over it looked as though the' was a Provi 
dence into it for I called to mind what you said 
about my being took sick here all alone, and though 
I am not fur along in years, nor sickly, still the' is 
sech a thing as accidents to be pervided against at 
all times. I have heered folks say that they would 
n't be no man's fourth, but law ! what 's the differ 
ence ? The others is all dead, and buried. 

We sha'n't make no weddin', but he and me will 
be pleased to see you when you can make it con 
venient to come out to Glover for a spell. Mabbe 



338 A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 

you would n't be so lonesome now for he keeps 
quite a few chickens ; he 's a master hand for eggs. 
So no more at present from 

Yourn truly MELINDY PERKINS. 

" Oh, Lordy ! " shrieked Amanda, as Mrs. 
Phelps opened the door and she dropped her let 
ter. " Oh ! I never did ! What upon airth is she 
a-thinkin' of? Heavens to Betsey ! that miser' ble 
old stick ! " 

" Why, Mandy Hart, what 's befell you ?" 

" Befell me ? 'T ain't me. I ain't nobody's fool. 
Mis' Phelps, Melindy is a-goin' to marry a old 
feller out to Glover as white-headed an' red-eyed as 
a albinia rabbit, and as toothless as a punkin lan 
tern. Pos'tive ! I don't no more see how she can ! 
Moreover, she sort of twits me with sayin' that I 
should n't know how to be took sick in her house, 
't was so lonesome, and no doctor within five mild, 
and no way of gettin' to one at that. Says that put 
it into her head ! " 

" Well off, ain't he ? " asked Mrs. Phelps, with 
the crisp acerbity of a woman who knows her 
world. 

" She says he 's got means and she '11 hev a home. 
A home, with that little ferret a-hoverin' around the 
hull endurin' time ! I 'd ruther grind a hand-organ 
round Munson streets ! I did n't think Melindy 
could" 

Two irrepressible tears trickled down the grieved 
old face from eyes that were sadder than the tears. 



A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 339 

But Amanda had made her moan. She did not 
answer Melinda's letter ; she went on her tedious 
way with more patience but less cheer than ever, 
and the next thing she heard of her sister was the 
following spring, when a note from Deacon Parker 
arrived, running thus : 

Miss AMANDY HART, This is to inform you 
that your sister is real sick with a fever ; the doctor 
thinks she 's dangerous. She 's kep a-askin' for you 
for a week back, but I did n't pay no attention to 't, 
thought she was kind of flighty and 't would only be 
a bill of expense to send for ye. But now Doctor 
Fenn says she 's got to hev a nuss any way, so I be 
thought me to send for you. I expect to pay your 
way so I put in a five dollar bill. If you '11 come a 
Wednesday I shall be pleased to see ye. 
Yours to command, 

AMMI PARKER. 

Amanda was alert immediately ; she had short 
notice to set her house in order and buy a few little 
delicacies for her sister. A born nurse, she knew 
just what to get and what to take, and was ready 
to set off on the early train next day. The jour 
ney seemed longer than before, the stage road was 
heavy, and it was much further to the deacon's 
house than to her sister's. She found Melinda very 
ill indeed. 

" You poor dear soul ! " Amanda said, as she 
bent over her sister, with her heart in her kind eyes. 



340 A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTS Y MOUSE. 

" I wish 't you 'd sent for me before. I wish I had 
ye down to Munson in the Home Hospittle ; you 'd 
be so much better off." 

A flash of hot color surged up into the sick 
woman's sallow, listless face ; she lifted herself, 
with the sudden force of will, higher on her pil 
low ; a weak, hoarse voice issued from her black 
ened lips. 

" I would n't go ! Don't ye speak on 't ! None 
o' them institootions for me. I ain't so low down 
as that, not yet ! " It was the last protest of 
sturdy independence ; she sank down again, and 
began muttering to herself. 

Amanda looked about her to see what could be 
done. The room was small and dark, opening out 
of the kitchen. The one window faced the north ; 
not a ray of sun ever visited it, and its outlook was 
on a rough lane leading to the near barnyard. On 
the other side of the lane was a swamp, where the 
first grass was just greening the tussocks, and 
folded cones of skunk cabbage were slowly growing 
up out of the black stagnant water. The window 
could not be opened ; evidently no one had tried to 
open it since it was paint-stuck, years ago. She 
could do nothing there, so she set the door wide into 
the kitchen and opened the outer door. Fumes of 
boiling cabbage and frying pork came into the bed 
room in clouds, but there was fresh air mingled 
with them. Melinda lay in the hollow of a feather 
bed, burning with typhoid fever, and Amanda 
could not lift her without help ; the deacon was 



A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 341 

milking, and old Moll Thunder, the temporary 
" help," was half drunk. Amanda thought with a 
pang of the clean rooms and easy beds of the Cot 
tage Hospital at Munson, the white-capped nurses, 
the skillful doctors, and her heart sank, though she 
knew, from long experience of sickness, that no 
human power could save Melinda now ; but it 
might have been othepwise, and she was her only 
sister, the last tie of kindred blood. She did what 
she could to make the poor woman comfortable, but 
it was too late. Melinda did not utter a rational 
word again : a few broken whispers, " To home," 
" What a green medder ! " " Tell Mandy," 
and then stupor overpowered all her faculties. 
There were a few hours of sonorous breathing ; 
the stem features settled into the pinched masque 
of death. Melinda had gone beyond her sister's 
help. 

"Yes," said Amanda, the week after, to Mrs. 
Phelps, who had come in to sympathize with her, 
" she was dretf ul sick when I got there ; reelly you 
may say she was struck with death. And now the 
last one I 'd got lies a-buried in the sand an' stuns 
in that lonesome graveyard, full o' hardbacks and 
mulleins. 'T wa'n't much of a funeral, but I had 
'em sing Jordan, for you know it tells about ' sweet 
fields beyond the swellin' flood ; ' and she favored 
the country so, it seemed sort o' considerate so to 
do. Oh, dear ! she was all the sister I 'd got, 
Mis' Phelps, and 't is a real 'fliction. Deacon 



342 A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 

Parker was a mind to have me stay 'long o' him, 
for company ; he was, pos'tive ! But mercy ! I 
should ha' gone crazy a - lookin 1 at him, if I 
had ! " 

Now Amanda was alone indeed : she had been 
so for years, but there had always been an aim and 
object to her life ; Melinda was in her mind and 
on her heart. The pleasant expectations, the frail 
hopes, that had been so dear to her tried in vain to 
live : they had no resting point ; they recoiled on 
her with a dull sense of want and solitude. She 
grew listless, feeble, and sad ; yet when a friend or 
neighbor came in to see her she brightened up, and 
was so cheery that it was a surprise to them all 
when she took to her bed and had a doctor. He 
could find nothing that seemed to warrant her 
weakness ; ordered nourishment, as doctors do, gave 
her some harmless pills, and went away smiling. 

" He do'no nothin' what ails me," Amanda said 
in a half whisper to Mrs. Phelps. " I guess I 've 
got through. I 've always looked f orrard to Me- 
lindy's comin' finally to live with me ; an' fust she 
went an' married that old Parker, an' then she up 
an' died. I wish 't I 'd ha' stayed with her longer ; 
mabbe she would n't have died. She was n't old ; 
not nigh so old as I be. I feel as though there was 
n't nothin' to live for ; but I s'pose if 't is the 
Lord's will I shall live, only I guess 't ain't. I 
feel a goneness that I never had ketch hold o' me 
before. Well, I sha'n't be lonesome, anyway ; 
there 's many mansions, and they tell about the 



A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 343 

holy city ; and all my folks is there or some 
where." 

A vague look clouded her eyes for an instant, but 
she was too weak to speculate. Once more she 
spoke, very softly : 

" I hope M'lindy likes it. ' Sweet fields,' that 
s what the hymn tells about." 

She turned her head on the pillow, sighed and 
was gone. 







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